Kushiel's Pupil
by Funsmoke
Summary: Something of which Ms. Carey would sternly disapprove. The life of young Anafielle de Montrève. She bears no mote in her summer-sky blue eyes, but what does mighty Kushiel have to teach the daughter of his living avatar?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the characters I've invented. I make no profit from this work. It is purely for my own entertainment.

Author's Note: I've had this up on AFF, but I've come to realise that any adult content will be so long forthcoming, that there is no point in keeping it only on there. I think the reason it was posted there first is because there was no Kushiel's Legacy section on FF. Now that there is, here is my baby. So far, it's fifteen chronological chapters, with the plotline all but complete in my little noggin.

As always, reviews are the lifeblood of a fanfic author, and I am a huuuge review hoar. So please enjoy the following, and I do apologise for the rampant spelling errors. I've done what I can to hunt them down, but...you know.

ONE

If I have ever been accused of folly, let it be known that love is folly, and I have been nothing if not a creature born of love. It was love that caused my mother to light a candle to Eisheth, and to implore her to open the gates of her womb. It was love that caused my father to prevail upon her to give them an heir of their own blood, made of their mad, god-fated love. It was a risk that she had long feared to take, for she is an _anguisette_, her eye pricked by Kushiel, former punisher of the One God, chosen by him to experience pain as pleasure. She feared to pass this sharp-bladed gift to her children, but through her love for my father, and her own desire to see the fruits of their blood commingled, relented, and I am the product.

If ever two people deserved one another, it is my parents. Despite that my mother is a courtesan, a Servant of Naamah, and my father trained as a chaste Cassiline from the age of ten, they have seen things that no mortal eye has any right to see, and done things that Blessed Elua himself commanded. It was a common enough jest, once. The Cassiline and the courtesan. My father took vows of chastity and self-denial nearly the same time as my mother took her vows to serve Naamah. When he was tested, as to follow love or duty, he made Cassiel's choice, to be damned rather than forswear love. He was declared anathema to the priesthood, and my mother's consort some two years later. Though they have had their disagreements, and tested one another beyond the limits of most mortals' patience, they have not parted since. To damnation and beyond, my father said once, and he has upheld his oath.

I was born in my mother's forty-second year, for though my parents had been together since the age of twenty, their singular lifestyle, and, indeed, their misgivings concerning conceiving a child of their own, prevented them from considering true parenthood until their mature years. They were not new to it, however, as they fostered a son, Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel, a prince of the blood and a traitor's get twice over, who had refused to follow in his parents' footsteps, and whose marriage to Sidonie de la Courcel, the dauphine of Terre d'Ange, had precipitated my father's desire to have a child.

I was raised between Montrève, my mother's county, and the City of Elua, where the Queen, Ysandre de la Courcel, considered my parents among her most trusted friends and advisers. It came as a shock to her when my mother announced her pregnancy, but it had also pleased her greatly.

I was surrounded by love from the beginning, when my blue eyes opened upon the wide world. It was a beautiful childhood, mine, and even in the wilful height of adolescence, I never had an occasion to regret it. My mother named me Anafielle, after the man who made her what she is―a skilled diplomat and translator, authoritative and intelligent beauty, and the very mistress of covertcy. She gave me also my father's name, to honour him. Though I can expect no inheritance from his family, nobles of Siovale, I am the heir to Montrève, and to a small estate besides, called Lombelon, which, perhaps, will figure somewhat in what follows.

My childhood was both sombre and sweet, with very little bitterness. My mother was always the lodestone of my heart, and there has not been a time when I would not give my right arm to simply bask in her presence. There was, in her dart-pricked eye, somewhat deeper and more austere than one would expect of the former Queen of Courtesans. She was always beautiful, but she held the Name of the One God in her memory, and her knowledge is unfathomable.

Father was, however, my joy. If his face is betimes creased by the lines of deep thought, there has never been a time that I could not smooth them with smiles. He loves me; I am his pride and greatest joy. He taught me to hunt and fish, to ride, and to fight in the manner of the Cassilines, as he taught my foster-brother, Imriel.

Him, I saw often, for though he was the husband of the dauphine, and future King of Terre d'Ange, he was raised in my beloved Montrève, and called my mother his own before ever the thought of me struck her. He is terribly beautiful, my brother who is not my flesh, with midnight blue eyes and skin like new ivory, blue-black hair like raven silk, and a lithe, almost feline grace. When I was young, I envied him his beauty, though I am, myself, d'Angeline, the daughter of the most celebrated courtesan in three hundred years.

My mother says it is a trait inherited from my father, my unheeding acceptance of my own beauty. She says we are both as heedless of it as a drunken spendthrift with coin.

When my mother prayed to Eisheth, she had no thought for my breeding and appearance, though in the Night Court, where she was raised, there are many strictures as to the blending of blood. She and my father are as unlike one another as night to day. My mother is diminutive, small of stature and limb, her mother having been an adept of Jasmine House of the Night Court. Her hair and eyes are dark, her limbs slender and pliant. My father, however, is tall and loose-jointed, with a skin that easily accepts the sun, and tames it into a mellow, golden hue. His hair, wheat-blond, his eyes, summer-sky blue. They were both beautiful, but very different.

In a strange quirk of fate, I took, in the main, after my father, with his eyes and build, my features modelling strongly after his. My hair, however, remained stubbornly black. It is said that Bhodistani blood runs in the veins of Jasmine House, and Eastern blood throws ever true. I do not know if it is true, only that it may not be untrue.

It was in my ninth year that the letter came. Ysandre de la Courcel often summoned my parents to the City of Elua, and betimes they took me, but this time, my presence was specifically requested.

I was in the mews, handling gyr-hawks with the falconer, Valien Agout, when my father's shadow fell upon me. 'Ana,' he came, and tugged my braid lovingly. 'Your mother has had a letter from the queen.'

'Oh?' I smiled, for this often meant a present for me from Imriel.

'Yes. We are going to the City of Elua. It seems as though the queen wishes to speak with you on a matter of some import.'

I did not know what to make of this outlandish statement, for as I recalled, Ysandre scarcely paid me any heed beside the occasional indulgent smile. I knew she regarded my parents highly, for they had been the saviours of the realm, and on more than one occasion, but I was nothing more than their late-gotten offspring. True, Imriel considered me his sister, but that meant very little to the Queen of Terre d'Ange.

Nevertheless, my bags were packed in a trice, and I was very soon riding alongside my father at the head of a retinue, bound for the City. The retainers of Montrève are familiar with travel, and my favourite member of our household, the steward, Ti-Philippe, rode alongside me as well, playing a lively air on his flute. 'There, little Anafielle,' he smiled at me, 'you seem so dour. Has your mother given you the Name of God to keep, and turned your little smile upside-down?'

'Tell me truly, Philippe,' I replied grimly, 'do you think the Queen of Terre d'Ange would begrudge the daughter of her Champion the County of Montrève?'

Philippe's smile faded abruptly. When I was born, Imriel had been the heir to Montrève, and had even borne its name, rather than acknowledge his traitorous ancestry. But my birth had caused him to forswear Montrève as his birthright, remanding it to me as inheritance. I wondered, childishly, whether Ysandre regretted the loss of the idyllic Siovalese holding. To me, it was paradise itself, and I doubted even the true Terre d'Ange that lies beyond could compare to my home.

'Your mind does work like your mother's, little Ana, but I think you have less to fear for Montrève, and more to fear from the expectations the queen has for you.'

'Anafielle,' my father turned, shifting in the saddle so that I would bear the full weight of his attention. 'You must not question Ysandre. She is our queen, and the near-cousin to your mother. Mayhap she has sent us into dire places, but never has she given us cause to regret it. The last great yielding we made to her was to give our Imriel to her daughter, and she has asked for nothing since. She wants the best for us, for our family.'

'I know, father.' I shrugged, and twisted my hands in the mane of my grey gelding, Hephaestos. 'I do not like court, that is all.'

It was the truth, and another reason for which my mother decried my similarity with my father. We did not enjoy the deft and complex threads woven by nobles, preferring instead the expanses of bright turquoise sky, and rich forests of Siovale. We knew to whom we were loyal, and told the world. It was enough for us, and it was only reluctantly that we could be drawn to aught else.

Our arrival in the City of Elua was joyful, at least. We retired first to our town-house in a quiet corner of the city, and Eugénie, the housekeeper, greeted us warmly, kissing me soundly, and making tutting noises at the state of my spare figure. Imriel was there, too, and he stooped to kiss my mother and embrace my father tenderly. When he came to me, he smiled, and my heart ached with his beauty, lavished upon me like a gift of the gods.

'Anafielle, love,' he accepted my kiss of greeting with a press of his hands on my shoulders. 'You resemble Joscelin more every day, though he never had such hair!' he produced a bundle, and offered it to me. 'I did not believe it was possible for you to have grown so much when your mother sent me your measurements, but so it is. And Favrielle said,' he turned toward mother, 'that you are ungrateful, indeed, who has a prince of the blood as your messenger boy, and who expects her to work miracles on unreasonably short notice.' I peeled back the brown paper as my mother chuckled, to reveal a swath of white silk.

'What is this?'

'You're to wear it tomorrow, Ana,' Imriel smiled, hugging me again, 'when the queen presents you with her particular proposal.'

I blinked up at him. 'What is it that she wishes to consult with me about, Imriel? Surely you know.'

'Phèdre,' his voice was mildly reproachful as he turned toward my mother, 'you did not tell her.'

'Well, and so,' her mysterious smile curved, causing Imriel's beauty almost to fade in comparison. Almost. 'You are the best person for her to hear it from, my goat-herd prince.'

'And no Daršanga to darken her eyes.' Imriel reached down, and unfolded the dress in my hands. It was beautiful, a lady's dress. 'Ana, Ysandre desires to acknowledge you as a member of our household―that is, a member of the House de la Courcel.'

'But I am not,' I replied, confidently and uncomprehendingly. There was a little twist roiling in my gut that wished he would not go on, but his indulgent smile informed me that an explanation would not be long forthcoming.

'You would be, if you were fostered with us.'

'Fostered?' I repeated, my own voice sounding hollowly in my ears.

'Yes. It is proposed that when you reach the age of ten, you shall be fostered, first in the Palace, and then, should you wish it, for a year in Alba, with Talorcan and Alais.'

I only vaguely recalled Princess Alais, who had bourne the future Cruarch of Alba. She took after her father, Drustan mab Necthana, as surely as Sidonie took after Ysandre. I recalled a tall, slim whip of a woman, with dark hair and a ready smile, in a beautiful d'Angeline dress, incongruously carrying a short bow, with a line of blue dots tattooed across each cheekbone. I recalled, also, her bright, violet eyes, the mark of House L'Envers, sparkling with merriment, and her fondness for animals. Such traits always adhere in a child's memory.

'Ana,' my mother's voice breached my reverie, 'if you do not wish to be fostered, my love, it is not needful. But your father and I have consulted, and we do ask it of you.' It was her way, my mother, to present her will so that I could not say no, even if she would have accepted it.

'I will hear the queen's wishes.' I said, 'and I will consider fostering, first in the City of Elua.'

'Ah, Ana, it will be such fun!' Imriel caught up the dress, holding it against me in a paroxysm of delight, and I saw that it was a creation which Favrielle would not be ashamed of. 'We will go riding, and I will teach you so many things! And we shall do our Cassiline forms together!' he turned to my father, 'You began teaching her very early, you know.' True Cassilines are sent to the priesthood at the age of ten, as my father was, but he had given me a pair of wooden daggers in my seventh summer, and ever since, had been training me the spheres of Cassiline discipline. I wasn't certain what my mother thought of it, for she said nothing, but she did watch us, every morning, as we drilled our forms.

'Imri,' I murmured, catching up my foster brother's hands, and they seemed very big, holding mine, 'will you truly watch for me, when I come to the City of Elua?' I saw his eyes meet my mother's over my head, and something passed between them.

'You are my sister in every way that matters, Ana.' He said solemnly, and his eyes flicked downward to mine. Imriel had the most beautiful eyes, like sapphires at twilight. They were a gift, I knew of the Shahrizai, his mother's kin, but I loved those eyes because they were Imri's. He leaned, and kissed me, then, and turned to my father. 'Joscelin, I'm surprised you agreed to this. You were always determined to keep me very close, in Montrève.'

'I knew you would be forced to come into your own eventually,' he put his hands out and turned me toward my mother. 'I wished you to reclaim as much of your childhood as possible, after Drujan.'

My mother took me back into my chambers, in order that I should not hear what passed between the men. The room had once been Imriel's, years ago, and still bore a few of his small touches―a baldric and hunting horn slung over a hook on the wall, old coins, and a token with a flower upon it. My mother took my hair down to brush away the tangles and dust of the road. 'You know, Anafiel,' she often pronounced my name in its masculine form, for nostalgia's sake, 'you are a very charming girl, but the hills of Siovale have scarce bred a lady.' I wrinkled my nose at her fond teasing.

'I don't wish to be a lady. I wish I were a boy. Then, at least, I could travel. I don't want to be a hero, like papa, but I should like to see the world.'

'And do we not travel enough for your taste?' she chided. 'We went to Marsilikos only three months ago, at the end of summer. Do you remember chasing sea gulls and watching the ships dock in port?'

'Yes, I remember.' I squirmed when the brush hit a snag, 'but I've never seen what you and papa have seen.'

'Elua grant it shall never be so,' she breathed, 'but I think I understand you.' She paused. 'Do not wrinkle your nose so. And mayhap, after you have fostered with the Picti, you shall not be overjealous of the places I have been, hmm?' and she kissed my forehead. I stayed as still as I could as she finished my hair, tying it at the base of my neck in a lover's haste knot. She had never before cut it, and it was heavy and lustrous as a curtain of silk. My mother, I think, was very proud of my hair, though betimes she deplored my knobby knees and overlong fingers. She prized the few marks that her blood had given me, though, I think, she never once regretted that she had not passed Kushiel's Dart on to me.

'I shall love my life,' I said quietly, 'wherever it shall bring me, for it was your sacrifice gave it to me.' I was suddenly conscious of the great doubts she had overcome to light a candle to Eisheth. When I looked at her, tears stood in her eyes.

'My darling Anafiel,' she kissed me again, and fervently, clasping me to her breast as though she were drowning, and I, her life raft, 'I have loved your life above my own. Kushiel knows it to be so―there was no greater beauty than that which you have given me.' And she pressed me again to her heart.

There were many times, I think, when I vexed her, with my ungraceful movements and coltish ways, for she had been raised in Cereus House, first among the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and there she had learnt all the subtle beauties of perfection. I, who had been bred in the mountains of Siovale, hunting and fishing, tending horses and sheep, and learning Cassiline disciplines from my father, had none of the niceties that she had acquired simply by living in the halls of Cereus House.

It seemed, however, as though I should have to overcome those wild ways.

On the morrow, Clory, my mother's maidservant, and Eugénie's niece, dressed my hair, and helped me slip into the dress that Favrielle nó Eglantine had made me. She was my mother's couturiere, and a genius with clothing. The dress was simple enough, with a froth of lace at my throat, covering me from neck to waist in form-fitting sheer silk. From thence, the skirt fell in voluminous, pale blue folds, covered with a netting of silver threads, sewn here and there with seed pearls. On the breast, over my heart, was a small, embroidered blue swan, the symbol of the House Courcel. When combined with my cloak, which bore the arms of Montrève, I fairly personified the proposal that was about to be made of me.

My father looked at me with narrowed eyes, but said nothing, for my mother was near to weeping as she gazed upon me. 'Oh, Joscelin,' she sighed, 'look at her! One might imagine that she was already of an age to be fostered, and was leaving us for the Palace.'

'And yet,' he murmured, in a tone of quiet command that brooked no argument, 'she is not. Let our daughter be a child while she is yet a child. There will be burdens aplenty as she grows.'

Queen Ysandre sent a small company of guards, as a courtesy, to escort us to the palace. At their head was a handsome man of perhaps thirty, with hair so blond it was nearly silver, and pale eyes. He nodded curtly to me, bowed to my mother and father.

'Maslin,' my mother's voice was low with astonishment, 'you!'

He nodded, almost curtly. 'Are you satisfied, my lady, with the sacrifice I gave to you, in return for my father's name?'

I blinked at the asperity in his tone, but also at the implications of his words. Here was another piece of my family's past that was hidden to me. 'Maman,' I said, quietly, once we were underway, 'who is that man?'

'Maslin, Duc d'Aiglemort. He gave you Lombelon when you were born.'

I shook my head, uncomprehending, for there are tales and tales of my mother's past, and her history is more singular than anyone's has a right to be. She had not, then, told me much of it, only that which she judged fit for the ears of children, and even then, I knew that she had culled much of it out.

We followed the entourage of guards to the palace, and were greeted by Imriel and Sidonie. Her cool, measuring gaze raked me from head to toe, and then, as I had before, and would yet, wondered why Imri loved her so. Even still, I gave her the kiss of greeting, her forehead smooth beneath my lips. 'Good morning, your Majesty.'

'Good morning, vicomtesse.' She said. 'Imriel is right. You resemble your father very much.'

'Thank you.' I watched her greet my parents, and turned to Imriel. 'I am nervous, Imri.' I said, in a small voice.

'I know,' he replied. 'I will hold your hand, if you like.'

'No,' I replied. 'No, I will present a face to the queen that befits both Verreuil and Montrève.'

We were led to the throne room, Sidonie and Imriel first, then me, and my parents the last. I was conscious of my fear, a trilling and indistinct fluttering in my gut, but also of the presence of my family, surrounding me with love. I had never known the sensation of being alone, or afraid for my life.

Queen Ysandre was seated upon her throne, alone save for two or three retainers with trays of refreshments, and her guards. She stirred to attention as we entered. Sidonie took her place at the queen's side, and Imriel stood beside her. I fell into a Cassiline bow out of pure habit beside my father, and did not realise what I had done till Imriel's laughter rang out over the hall, and I rose, to see a smile dawning on the queen's lips.

'Ah, Phèdre,' she said, as we all rose, 'I should have known to expect more from you and your mad-cap Cassiline.'

'Do you take insult, my lady?' my father's voice, wryly amused, came at my elbow.

'Ah, no. come, let us retire to my study. I have somewhat to say to all of you. And particularly,' she fixed her eye upon me, without, however, meeting my gaze, 'with you, Vicomtesse de Montrève.'

We followed, a strange retinue, trailing her to a lavish study, with piles of books and scrip, and the earthy wine-scent of ink. A scribe sat unobtrusively in a corner, transcribing manuscripts. Ysandre dismissed him peremptorily. 'I suppose,' she said, once he had gone, 'that you wonder why I should wish to have Anafielle fostered in my household.'

'I admit,' my mother said, 'I am flattered, but why such a fancy should strike you is beyond me.'

'Surely, Phèdre, you do not believe I am so ungrateful a woman to forget the services Montrève has tendered the crown?' then, she smiled, a little sadly. 'Alas, you are right, and I did not think of it. Sidonie did.'

Mother sighed at this, and I think it was her way of concealing her surprise. The corner of my father's mouth twitched. 'Sidonie thought I should be fostered in the Royal family?' I said, finally.

'Yes. She felt it would be a fitting exchange, as Imriel was raised in Montrève. Also, I think he misses you. All of you, mind,' Ysandre looked over my parents, but her cool violet gaze rested on me. 'But he speaks of you as though you were his own. His sister, his daughter, it signifies little. I think―' her eyes flickered back to my mother's, '―I think her birth replaced a little of what was lost when Dorelei was killed.'

'Who is Dorelei?' I asked, unheeding curiosity taking precedence over the few manners I had.

'She doesn't know.' Ysandre whispered, astonished.

'She is nine years old, your Majesty,' my father interrupted, 'and that is Imriel's story to tell, not ours.'

'So it is. It is easy to forget that many did not live through all that we have.'

'Easy, also, to forget that you watched much of it from the City of Elua.' Father's voice was not accusatory, but I marvelled at how he dared to address the Queen of Terre d'Ange. She seemed to take it in stride.

'Ah, Joscelin, you always had a temper.' She laughed a little. 'Howbeit, you would not be here if you misliked the idea.'

'My lady―' my mother began, then bit her lip. '―Ysandre. I believe it would please my lord, Anafielle's namesake, that you should offer his heir fosterage in your house. I believe, also, that it would please your father, who never wore the crown he was destined for. But the decision lies with Anafielle, as it did with Imriel.'

'So be it.' The queen turned her attention again to me, and it took an effort not to blanch beneath her steady gaze. 'What, then, shall it be, Anafielle Verreuil de Montrève? Will you take fosterage in the House Courcel, and add its name to your already impressive array of titles?'

'I think, my lady,' I said quietly, 'that Imriel has profited by his association with your family, even if he did not much like it betimes, and if it is his opinion that I shall, as well, it is enough for me.'

'And if I should ask it of you?' she said, something very like amusement colouring her voice.

'My mother already has, your Majesty,' my chin lifted, 'it is, I have said, enough.' This time, Ysandre laughed, a twinkling, girlish sound, and I stared at her in puzzlement.

'Oh, Phèdre!' she sighed, as her hilarity subsided, 'Oh, Phèdre, somewhere, your lord laughs at us both. If she has Joscelin's damnable Cassiline bow, and his unmarked eyes, she has your inscrutable loyalty. Mayhap your choice of names was only too accurate.'

'I wish you the joy of her, when she turns ten.' My mother returned the queen's smile. 'It is settled, then?'

'In her tenth summer, that is, the next, you will bring her to the City of Elua, and here leave her?'

'Mayhap we will send her with an escort.' My mother said.

'No,' father interrupted. 'No, I will bring her myself. And leave her in your care.'

'I should have expected nothing less of my Perfect Companion.' My mother smiled, and in that moment, though it passed quickly, they were the only people in the world to one another.

'I shall have fosterage documents draughted in advance.' The queen said. 'There will be a fête some four days hence, at which I shall announce that it is my intention to foster the child of the realm's first heroes.' She embraced my mother and father warmly, and kissed my cheeks, and I felt keenly the honour upon which she conferred me.

When we emerged into the throne room, it was not so empty as before. Sidonie was gone, but Imriel was standing with a pair of nobles, who, from looking at them, could only have been his kindred. The first was a man, near his age, tall and beautiful, his ripples of blue-black hair hanging in thousands of linked chains from his head. He was turned away from me, but I could tell by his voice that he was smiling. The other was a woman, her face like a jewel amongst the free curls framing the dangerous symmetry of her jaw. Imriel was laughing at what the man was saying, his head thrown back, sapphire eyes alight with the joy of it.

I had never considered, before, that he might have kin that were blood linked to him. I knew, of course, that he was cousin to the queen, but she was not his family as I was. He did not laugh with Ysandre.

My parents were still speaking in low tones with the queen, and I made to step between them, but Imriel beckoned to me. I hesitated. The floor between us seemed a very wide impasse, and I felt the emptiness of it, and that my destination would be to confront his kindred. 'Well, come, Ana,' he raised his voice. 'Come meet my cousins.'

The man he was talking to turned and saw me. He was beautiful, and I am d'Angeline. Even at so young an age, I was sharply conscious of his beauty, shining like a baleful star, contrasted against Imriel's familiarity. They were very like, and very different. I gathered my courage before me, and paced toward them, my head high, as though I were meeting my father of a morning to practice our forms. As I approached, I again gave the Cassiline bow, for I knew my curtsey was ungainly.

A bark of laughter, from the man, and he said, 'Ah, look, it is your Montrève in miniature, Imri.'

'This is my foster-sister, Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse de Montrève. Never was a county more readily forsworn.' Imriel said, taking me by the shoulders. 'Sidonie wishes us to foster her in the City of Elua, when she comes of age.' I was astonished by the frankness with which Imriel spoke to this man, but then he said, 'Ana, this is Mavros Shahrizai, a cousin of mine, and one of few friends. This,' he took the woman's hand, 'is Roshana, also of the Shahrizai. These both, and Roshana's younger brother, Baptiste, were fostered for a summer at Montrève.'

'Well met, my lord and lady.' I said. 'I trust you were well kept at Montrève?'

'Why, of course.' Roshana said, her smile quick, though I had a feeling that it would not have been so easily earned if Imriel had not been present.

'Imri, she is the very image of Joscelin! Look at those stern eyes! I almost think she will chastise me for making eyes at Katherine Friote!' Mavros laughed, his careless grace a thing I had rarely seen in Imriel, who was wont, betimes, to brood.

'Ah, but she will not.' Imriel patted Mavros' shoulder, and something changed in the air. They both became somewhat more serious, and I could tell that even Roshana felt as though she should look away.

'I can see,' Mavros said, 'why Sidonie wishes to keep her close.' This, of course, made my ears prick, but my hopes of hearing why Sidonie's interest in me was so apparent were crushed as my mother and father approached.

'My lord and lady Shahrizai,' my mother said, but did not curtsey. My father, silent and austere, stood at her elbow. Mavros and Roshana both dropped hasty obeisance, which were not, however, rendered clumsy by their astonishment.

'My lady comtesse,' Mavros said first, 'you have not aged a day since we left Montrève.'

A smile flickered across my mother's lips, and I could tell she was pleased, and not a little amused. 'My lord Mavros, neither have you.' She teased. Roshana laughed outright at this, but Mavros mocked a pain to the heart.

'My lady comtesse has the right to wound the Shahrizai,' his smile was languid and sensuous, and I was uncomfortably aware of the fission between him and my mother, 'and we, for once, must learn to yield to pain inflicted.'

'Your heart, Lord Mavros,' my mother replied, in a tone of familiar banter, 'has never been imperilled, I think, for my sake.'

'If I were ten years older,' he sighed, 'Five, even!' and, with this, he made his farewell to us, and took Roshana away with him.

I glanced at my father, to see if he was not discountenanced by such brazen behaviour from my mother. He did not, indeed, seem at all astonished at her audacious conduct. He remained stoically silent, sort of very odd expression twisting his lips and lighting his eyes, by which I knew he was essaying to withhold a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the characters I've invented. I make no profit from this work. It is purely for my own entertainment.

TWO

If Favrielle nó Eglantine was stern with my mother, it was only because she knows it is a comforting mark of old acquaintance. And, of course, because my mother often prevailed upon her to create masterpieces at the drop of a hat.

'Four days? Four days! Comtesse, you try my patience sorely.' She shook her sunburst curls and stamped her foot. 'I have been fitting you, my lady, for wellnigh thirty years now, but you have never―'

'I have.' My mother replied haughtily. 'And it is not for myself that I require your services. The queen is going to announce her fosterage of my daughter at this fête, and I wish to present an image that the City of Elua will remember. Besides,' my mother rolled her eyes, 'she is not…she was not raised in the Night Court.'

'Ungainly, yes.' I did not flinch at Favrielle's harsh words. I knew that mine was not a graceful figure, with my thin limbs and oft disarrayed hair. The only times I felt capable of competent movement where when I went through the Cassiline spheres, every morning, with my father. 'It is not a trouble to me.' Favrielle tossed her head again, mouth tightening, the small scar on her upper lip whitening. 'We will make her Tsingani.' She declared finally, stepping backward and nodding. 'The lines this season run toward solemn, figure-obscuring dresses. I shall attire your daughter in coloured trousers, bright jewels, and dress her hair in ribbons and flowers. She will be a celebration of life and joy in the midst of greys and whites, a peacock amongst doves.' My mother nodded.

'It is perfect. And Joscelin will like it.'

'Her measurements are doubtless much altered since last season?' Favrielle produced a measuring line and gazed at me, her wide grey eyes taking me in. 'Clothes off, and on the dais.' I followed her instruction, shivering a little in the coolness of the salon, standing as still as I could as she took my size. 'You do not speak overmuch, child.' She observed, wrapping the line round my chest.

'You and my mother will make a wise decision for me.' I said.

'Ah, well. But what do you think of being a Tsingani girl?'

'My mother once played at being a _didikani_, a half-breed. It is no shame. And the Master of the Straits, he is _didikani_.' I looked seriously back at her, and she shrugged, moving on to my waist and flanks.

'Perhaps you are not merry enough to be Tsingani.' She prodded. 'They play the timbales, and sing for coin. Can you sing?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I sing to my horse, Hephaestos.'

Favrielle glanced at mother. 'A Hellene name.'

'Yes, after the fire god, who made Baal-Jupiter's lightning bolts. Because he has yellow hooves. Papa says I may gild them, when I come to the City of Elua to live.'

'Is it so?'

'It is. And before he was gelded―Hephaestos, that is, not papa―we made certain that he sired a foal. And his foal shall be mine when it is three years old.'

'Shall it?'

'Yes. It is a colt, and finer than Hephaestos, and I think I shall name him…oh, I don't know. Imri is like to help me.'

'Ah,' Favrielle smiled now, and I could see how pretty she really was. 'So, the little vicomtesse does speak.' I blushed a little at this, and my mother laughed.

'Our falconer and houndskeeper can scarcely keep her quiet. I hope Ysandre can wrestle a lady into her skin, as packed full as it is with Joscelin's blood.'

'She did not manage with Princess Alais,' Favrielle murmured, and mother smiled afresh. 'Well, since I have so easily settled her costume, I might as well design you one.'

'Will you attire me, then, as a Tsingani fortune-teller, wearing my wealth in chains of gold round my neck?'

'Mayhap,' Favrielle's eyes turned shrewd. 'Or, indeed, mayhap you would make a better Demetra.'

'The Hellene goddess of husbandry?' my mother's voice registered shock.

'Indeed. With flowers and vines to tie into your daughter's costume, and, bethink you on it. The City of Elua is accustomed to seeing you as the Queen of Courtesans, their sole _anguisette_. They have scarce thought of you as a mother, a nurturer. Despite your adoption of Imriel de la Courcel, you are still a celebrated beauty.'

'Waning beauty,' my mother smiled sadly.

'Yes, but now given the grace of maternity. So you shall be, a Tsingani's child, fresh-birthed upon the _lungo drom_, and the mother of the earth, spreading her bounty before everyone.'

'You are a sorceress, Favrielle,' my mother said, hands passing over bolts of material that lay side by side upon a cutting table.

'And Joscelin? Will he attend the fête?'

'Yes, but he is stubborn. He will wear his grey attire, with only the insignia of Montrève over his heart.' My mother sounded almost exasperated, but I thought my father never lacked charm in his near-Cassiline robes. 'Mayhap he would look well as a Mendacant?'

Favrielle smiled. 'No, I think Joscelin would be quite lovely as Apollo.'

'You jest,' my mother raised her hands to her mouth.

'No, indeed, with his golden hair and those strong, clean lines of his face, he is godlike indeed.'

'Papa is not a god!' I laughed. 'He is…he is my papa.'

'There are those who would argue with you, love.' My mother said softly, 'And I am not certain I would not be among their number.'

I shrugged, but a thought had occurred to me. 'Maman, I shall not have to tell people's fortunes at the queen's fête, shall I? I do not know the _dromonde_.'

Favrielle and my mother glanced at one another, then at me, and I must say, my proud little Siovalese heart was not warmed by their laughter.

'Ah, no, love.' My mother said, once recovered. 'No, that is a thing which I do not believe Ysandre will ask of you.'

The morning of the queen's fête, Favrielle sent our costumes to the house, along with several of her assistants to adorn our hair and select our jewellery. My costume, deceptively simple, but with every line imbued with Favrielle's distinct genius, was a pair of doeskin trousers, dyed a fine, deep blue, and black boots of calf's leather. A white cambric shirt was worn beneath a vest of varying hues of green patchwork, cunningly cut so that the patches were in shapes of trees and flames, horses and stars. Over this was a garnet jacket, embroidered with gold, the crests of Montrève and Courcel emblazoned across the back of my shoulders. My mother outlined my eyes in kohl, and gave me ruby drops for my ears, with a king's ransom in gold and jewels hung round my neck and arms. She never allowed me rings, for I lost many of them, and I did not like them, anyhow, for they made my practice daggers slide in the most uncomfortable fashion.

I stared at myself in the glass as one of Favrielle's assistants braided and coiled my hair with ribbons, and beads of coloured glass. My mother, by contrast, was a sedate beauty, in a layered dress of rust-coloured splendour, which rose to cover her chest and fastened round her neck, but plunged at the back, leaving her marque bare. She, too, wore jewels, but hers were cunningly carved and cut to resemble flowers and vines.

There are those who say that my mother is the flower of d'Angeline beauty―this, I acknowledge, and more. One of my only regrets is that I never saw her in the fullest bloom of youth, for even stumbling half-alive out of the Skaldic hinterlands, she charmed trust out of Ysandre de la Courcel. I have often wished that I resembled her more―indeed, she is in my face, but only in faint echoes. She is in the poignant turn of my nose, in my eye-lashes, in my singularly stubborn chin―the rest in my father's gift, and the boyish charm I had in childhood was enough to combat the ungainliness of my frame.

When we entered the palace, I thought, perhaps, that Favrielle had erred in choosing for me this outlandish Tsingano garb. I watched others, in subtle tones of grey blue, sombre black, and a myriad of off whites and beiges. My father fit perfectly, his austere face surrounded by long cables of wheaten hair, in which a few strands of grey were only just intermingling, his Cassiline arms always at his sides. He smiled faintly, wry humour glinting in his eyes. 'It seems as though the mode has finally caught up with me, hey, Phèdre?' she laughed at this, and I, also, though I little understood it, and at the door, we waited to be announced.

I stood before my parents as we entered; I did not like it, but they said it was important that I do so. I lifted my chin, and, with their ever present strength at my back, crossed the room, the eyes of hundreds of nobles fastened upon me. Ysandre was sitting at the head of a board, with Sidonie. The Cruarch, along with Princess Alais, were not present. It was autumn, and they would return to Terre d'Ange with the spring.

When I approached the queen and dauphine, I bowed, feeling my father do the same, and ignored the gasps of astonishment from the crowd around me. Ysandre rose, and beckoned to me to sit beside Sidonie, as my parents took places at her side.

'Good even, Vicomtesse de Montrève.' Sidonie murmured, kissing my brow. 'You shall set the mode for our young nobles for many seasons yet, I see.'

I did not know whether her words were praise, or in jest, and I accepted the glass of cordial she offered me. 'Majesty,' I said, conscious, still, of the eyes upon us, 'where is Imriel?'

'Ah, he is with Lord Mavros,' she replied, a strange light of fondness sparking in her dark Cruithne eyes, and I wondered, was it for Imriel, or Mavros? Or both? 'You will see enough of him, next summer.'

'He is my brother, your majesty.'

'Yes,' she replied. 'and my cousin. Do not forget, dear Ana, that I love him, too.'

I smiled at this, for she meant it in jest. 'I shall not steal your husband, my Lady Dauphine.' I smirked, and nearly regretted it. My jest was a precocious one, and something I should have known seemed tasteless for my years. To my astonishment, Sidonie threw back her head, baring the column of her white swan's neck, and laughed heartily, as I had only ever seen her laugh with Imriel, and then, only when she believed no one could see. That I had been the one to provoke such a response in her both pleased and confused me. Confused, because I had not realised till then how much I wanted her to like me.

'Oh, I think I fear other things for you, little Anafielle Verreuil.' She said, and took my hand beneath the table. I yielded to her, liking her better because she had laughed at my jest.

As reluctant as I was to make myself noticed, when my father rose and led me to the dance-floor, I did not resist. I knew he was a fair dancer, even if I was a poor one yet, and I dare say that we made a handsome pair, the Cassiline and Tsingani, the golden-haired father and dark-haired daughter.

'Ana,' he murmured, leading me competently through a mincing gavotte, 'I know that you are not well accustomed to court, and you know that I mislike it.'

'I do, papa.'

'It was a bargain, we made, your mother and I, that if she were to bear you, that she would have the right of raising you.' I read, in his hesitance, in his even tones, what he wished truly to say.

'Then it was not your will that I be fostered with the queen.'

'I do not say,' he replied, 'that the idea is repugnant to me.' His big fingers, an echo of mine, only longer, heavily calloused, tightened on mine, and he sighed, thinking of how to speak his mind without giving insult to either mother or the queen. 'The world knows, Anafielle, that you are more my daughter than your mother's. Indeed, the eye is a keen one which can discern her in your face and form. In deed, you may be much like me, as yet, but you have not seen the world from which your mother hails, and I am loathe in condemning you to the life of a country squire, when she was so much more. Mayhap, were you exposed to her history, you might find that your own path does not so greatly diverge from hers.' He paused, then smiled, 'Barring, of course, dedicating yourself to Naamah's arts.'

'You wish me to become a lady?'

'It will do no harm, should you maintain your forms.' He chuckled. 'And should you wish to return to Montrève at any moment, you have only to speak the word. I would not be separated from you for the world, my love.'

'I know, papa.' I leant forward, and kissed his cheek. A murmur of approval sounded at my back at the charming picture we presented, and he smiled at me. 'They like to see us together.'

'It will endear you to them, Ana.' He replied. 'I do not know much of court, but I do know d'Angelines, and we are deeply enamoured of love, in all its forms.' His smile to me was like the sunrise.

'I hope the winter will pass slowly,' I said, thoughtfully. 'I hope it will seem like eternity before I must leave you.' To this, he said nothing, but I think he was pleased with my simple loyalty, and, even, with my reluctance to become a member of court, though he would never say such a thing.

When the gavotte had ended, father escorted me back to the board, where Imriel had himself filled my plate. He and my mother were engaged in light conversation, but as father and I approached, they fell silent. Both Ysandre and Sidonie had gone, mingled with their guests. 'Ana,' Imri kissed me. 'You look…bizarre, and completely lovely. I thought my eyes had deceived me, when I saw a fair Tsingani maid dancing with a Cassiline priest.' The laughter in his eyes was my reward for enduring the jest, and I set to my food with a will, realising suddenly that I had not eaten since my morning's brief repast of honeyed tea and a small egg posset. Imriel knew how my tastes ran, I daresay, for he had heaped my plate with soft, brown bread smothered in a richly-herbed butter, slices of cured ham wrapped in flaky butter pastry, a portion of roasted pheasant, salmon roe, orange and bursting in a salty profusion in my mouth, and roasted mushroom-caps, upon which were melted crumbles of sharp, blue-veined cheese and drizzled in a savoury saffron yellow sauce. This and more I ate, oysters and terrine of lobster, though these were not in season, sugared violets and glacées sweetened with milk and honey, and, finally, a dish of cream and apricots, and I found myself laughing and speaking with Sidonie as though I were already her fosterling.

When we had finished with eating, and my mother was growing warm with drink, and smiling just overmuch at father, Imriel took charge of me, steering me away from the table, and toward a clutch of his friends. I was nearly the only child at the fête, but there were a few, I think, who had been brought, if only to prevent my feeling out of place. One of these was a boy, perhaps a year older than I, with solemn grey eyes and black hair, standing at the side of a man of whom he was the very image. A faint scent of apples clung to them, and I leaned toward them without knowing it, the fresh smell reminding me of the orchards in Siovale.

'Bertran,' Imriel said, hailing the man, 'Bertran, this is my foster-sister, Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse de Montrève. I was of a mind to introduce her to your son.'

'Of course, Imriel,' the man said, in a restrained tone. 'Good evening, my lady vicomtesse.' I noted that if his cheeks were a little flushed, he was not entirely comfortable in Imriel's presence. 'I am Bertran de Trevalion, and this is my son, Laurient.'

'Good evening, my Lord Bertran, Lord Laurient.' I bowed to them both.

'Blessed Elua!' exclaimed the boy, Laurient, 'Are you a Cassiline, then?'

'No, but my father was.'

'Ah!' he tapped his chin in consideration. 'Your father is Joscelin Verreuil, the Queen's Champion.' His polite smile became pleased, and I forgot all about his father's incomprehensible conduct. 'And it is he who taught you to bow like that, is it?'

'Yes.'

'Well, can you dance as well as you can execute a Cassiline bow, Anafielle Verreuil?'

'No.' I replied, haughtily, taking an obscene pride in the fact that I was not court-bred. 'But I can try.'

'Well and so,' he offered his hand with a bow, 'will you not dance with me, vicomtesse?'

'I will, if you truly wish it, my Lord de Trevalion.'

'I do.' He smiled, and I glanced at Imriel. He was looking, bemused, at Laurient's father, who had turned away.

'Where will I find you, when I am through?' I asked my foster brother.

'I will be watching you dance, love.' He caressed my cheek, and then Laurient was leading me away, taking my hands to dance with me as courtly children do, though I did not know it then. He was a deft hand at leading my Cassiline-trained steps, and though, mayhap I gave a misstep or two, he covered for it easily.

'I have not seen you in the City of Elua, much, vicomtesse.' Laurient observed, framing my waist with hands that were already large, and hinted at strength.

'I have not been much at court.'

'Is this Montrève so entertaining that you would rather spin your days out there than in the very City of Blessed Elua?' there was a spark of curiosity in Laurient's eyes, and I replied the only way I could, and that, frankly.

'There is no place sweeter to me than Montrève, my Lord de Trevalion. Where were you raised?'

'In the City,' he replied easily, 'and in Azzalle, at the Duchy Trevalion, where my grandfather lives, but―' he hesitated, '―he forswore his birthright, for his father was a traitor to the crown. My father should have been the Comte de Somerville, but his grandfather, Percy de Somerville, rebelled against Queen Ysandre before my father was born.' I leaned into him as he drew me into a turn, and I inhaled the apple-scent that emanated from his pulse-points. He smiled. 'It is the mark of the scions of Anael,' he laughed. 'My grandfather's family is of l'Agnace, and we smell of our orchards.'

'It is very pleasant, my Lord de Trevalion.'

'Laurient, please.' He replied, executing a courtly bow to end our dance. 'If you would permit it, my lady vicomtesse.'

'Yes,' I accepted, as he kissed my hand, liking the interest and merriment in his grey eyes. 'And call me Anafielle.'

'Anafielle,' he repeated my name, and I found the sound of it charming on his lips. As the music ended, Laurient did not let go of my hand. I could see that he was looking between his father and me, and I smiled at him.

'Stay with me.' I said, suddenly emboldened by the appearance of his hesitation. 'Your father will seek you, when he remembers to.'

'As my lady wishes,' I was charmed, afresh, when he held out his arm to me. 'Come, I will show you the music room. Do you like music?' He tugged on my arm, eager to disappear, but while I did wish to follow him, I caught sight of Imriel, standing at the corner of the dance floor, his arms crossed over his chest, and remembered why I was, at all, present at the fête.

'I must stay here.' I tugged back, steering him subtly toward the edge of the floor. 'I have…' I glanced toward Imriel, 'responsibilities.'

'And what might they be?' the curiosity shone brighter, and he followed me easily, like one of our hound-whelps at Montrève.

'You will see, before the fête is over.' I replied, a wily smile resting on my lips. 'But come, you must speak to me about the City, for I am naught but an awkward provincial.'

'An awkward provincial, indeed, dressed by Favrielle nó Eglantine's own hand. I know well the lines of your costume, Anafielle, and no Tsingani girl was ever so attired. My mother,' he held up a finger, preventing my reply, 'attempts, every fête and festival, to make an appointment with the celebrated couturiere, but she is booked from one end of the year to the other. That is how I know.'

'I never have to worry about couturieres, in Siovale.' I sighed.

'And what must you worry about?' Laurient prodded, considerably better versed in conversation than I was.

'Oh, all manner of things,' I lifted my head, finally having a subject which I could converse on freely. 'There are the hounds, of which our Cruithne houndskeeper, Aedwar, has charged me with maintaining the breeding-lines. And our falconer, Valien, is teaching me to train the hawks. Papa―that is, my father―has taught me to hunt and ride, and I am learning, also, the Cassiline spheres and forms. I am, furthermore, a deft hand with a carving-knife. See,' I lifted a whistle, in the shape of an owl, from my breast, where it hung on a leather cord. 'I made this myself, and Ti-Philippe, our steward, painted it.' Laurient seemed impressed at this, and I carried on, tucking the whistle away. 'Mother has taught me her languages―Caerdicci, Skaldic, Cruithne, Jebean and Akkadian, Habiru, zenyan―'

'Zenyan?' he cocked his head. 'What language is that?'

'It is an argot, from a land of which maman does not speak. And I speak Hellenic, as well, but only passing fair.'

'You are a veritable polyglot demagogue.' Laurient replied. 'I speak Caerdicci, and a little Cruithne, for Azzalle is on the Straits.'

'My mother spoke to me in all her languages, when I was a babe in arms. I believe she wished they should be as fluent as my d'Angeline. Betimes there are moments when I forget a word in d'Angeline, and substitute for it another.'

'I think,' Laurient said, 'that you will not find it so difficult in the City of Elua as you think it to be. In Azzalle, it is different, also, for it is cold, and dark in the winter, and rather than country squires, we are surrounded by sailors and mercenaries. There are times when it is difficult to distinguish it from the hinterlands.'

'And the sea?' I stumbled a little, as someone passed, and brushed rather strongly against me. Laurient caught me. Had he not, I would have fallen automatically into a crouch.

'You must pardon us, in the City,' he gazed into the crowd, as though to identify my aggressor. 'We are betimes ill disposed to detecting quality.'

'But everyone is so beautiful,' I breathed, my eyes following a woman, clad in a sheer black gown, her rich chestnut hair caught in a gauzy caul. She struck me as the very epitome of beauty and elegance―all the things I had never yet been, and I suddenly felt very gauche in my gaudy Tsingano garb.

'Yes, beautiful, but they are all so like, as though they were made by the same pastry chef.'

'You are not like them.'

'I!' he laughed. 'I am young yet, but am conscious, still, of my fate. My father, and his father before him, and, yes, even his traitorous father, they all were military men. I do not doubt that I shall be like them, greeting the Cruarch and his heirs as their flagship sails the straits, maintaining the coast, cultivating favour, and seeking to erase the stain upon our name that Percy de Somerville and Baudoin de Trevalion set upon us.' When he spoke of his family, it was not with the same solemnity that took Imriel when he discoursed the same subject, but rather, with a resigned coolness. 'And you, Anafielle, you are the child of a spotless descent, daughter of servants to the gods, heir already to a prodigious fortune. What will you, when you attain your majority? Will you spin out your days in Montrève, with your retainers and your hounds? Or mayhap will you become so fascinating a character as your mother?' at this, it was my turn to laugh.

'You can judge for yourself how like my mother I am. There are few, indeed, who would guess at our shared blood from a passing glance. And as for my future, my Lord de Trevalion,' I smiled secretly, 'mayhap there is somewhat more to it than Siovalese hounds.'

He raised a brow. 'Is it so, my Lady Vicomtesse?' I was about answering, when a near imperceptible sign from Imriel arrested my attention. I turned toward the queen's board. Ysandre was just turning away from my mother, and both her and Sidonie's gazed landed and locked upon me. 'I…I must go, Laurient.' I said quickly, dropping my hand from his shoulder, where it had been companionably resting.

'Then this responsibility…has it anything to do with the things my father has been murmuring about Queen Ysandre's plans?'

'It may.'

He grinned, a wry sort of expression that was at once thoughtful and careless. It reminded me, oddly, of Mavros Shahrizai. 'Then allow me to escort you to the queen's board, my lady vicomtesse.' He gave a courtly bow, and I returned my own, resting my hand upon the arm he offered. I glanced, momentarily, at Imriel, in whose gaze a speculative gleam had appeared.

As Laurient and I approached the board, my father stood, coming round to us. 'Ana, the queen will announce her plans now. Who is this?'

'Papa,' I said, 'this is Laurient de Trevalion. Imriel introduced me to him.'

'Bertran's son?' I decided that father did not like Laurient so quickly as I did, for his hands crossed over his body automatically, though he did not, it is true, allow them to hover over the hilts of his daggers.

'Yes, my lord.' Laurient bowed, and elegantly transferred me to my father's arm. 'I had the pleasure of entertaining the vicomtesse; we are the only ones very near in age here.'

'And I wonder,' father said, 'why you are here at all.'

'I requested Bertran to bring him.' Imriel said, laying his hands on Laurient's shoulders. The tension in my father's stance decreased visibly. 'I thought to introduce him to our Ana.' Then, applying a reassuring pressure to Laurient's shoulders, 'Go to your father. You have done well.' With another bow, my new friend left, shooting me a comradely smile as he went.

My father made his way back to his chair, and a herald, who had been, till now, standing unobtrusively behind the queen, moved forward, and, in a ringing tone, addressed the guests of the fête.

'Lords and ladies, friends of the Crown! You are all here to do honour to our queen, Ysandre de la Courcel! Hear, now, that which she shall say!' the room had fallen silent the moment the herald had spoken, but now, everyone had gone terribly still. I wished I could shrink to the size of a teaspoon and lie on my back upon the board. Ysandre rose, taking my arm as she did so, that I must stand beside her.

'My friends,' she said, her chin high, still clean profile illuminated against the flickering torches and oil lamps lining the hall. 'this is Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse Montrève, daughter to Phèdre nó Delaunay, Comtesse de Montrève, and her consort, Joscelin Verreuil, my Royal Champion. It is impossible that you are ignorant of their identities, both for great services rendered to Terre d'Ange, and for fostering Prince Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel. I have brought you all here tonight to announce that I shall return the favour which the comtesse and her consort have done for Prince Imriel, by fostering the vicomtesse in my household, in the summer of her tenth year, that is, next summer. Rejoice with me, my friends, for in doing so, I gain a daughter, and so intertwine our houses for yet another generation.'

If the applause that followed Ysandre's announcement did not lack for simple noise, it fell short of true sincerity, for I saw many nobles glancing amongst themselves with hardened eyes. Who is this, they seemed to say, that the queen honours her above our children? Are we not of ancient houses? Is she not the get of an aging whore, and a Cassiline declared anathema?

I looked to Imriel, standing by Sidonie, and saw through his beautiful smile to the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, betokening stress. Sidonie was, as ever, cool and aloof, despite the smile curving her lips. I turned my eyes toward my parents. They were beaming, but my father's expression held the same tightness as Imri's, and mother looked as though she were drinking the thoughts straight out of everyone's minds. My eyes, then, very naturally, fell upon Laurient, who was applauding with the rest, his grey eyes on mine, simple goodwill contrasting with his father's inebriated scowl.

All of this, I observed, as my mother had taught me to, and wondered afresh why Sidonie de la Courcel, dauphine to Terre d'Ange, had requested to foster me, a minor Siovalese heir, and what might be expected of me when the summer swept away my tenth year.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the characters I've invented. I make no profit from this work. It is purely for my own entertainment.

THREE

I never expected that the news of my imminent fosterage would pass by the great houses of Terre d'Ange without comment, but I never expected them to take action so quickly.

The morning after the fête, I woke before the sun had lit the sky with its first grey tendrils, dressed in roughspun trousers and a shirt that was fraying at the elbows, and, fetching my wooden daggers and leather vambraces, slunk into the courtyard to meet father. He was already there. I had never in my life preceded him to our morning ritual. He was halfway through a series of forms that I had not yet learned to perform, but I found myself counting off the basic spheres upon which they were built―the _doucet_, the _cygnus_, and the _piescat_. I bowed to him as he slowed and turned toward me, and he did the same, only with a fluidity and grace that I could not yet hope to command.

'Good morning, father.'

'Good morning, Ana.' His smile of greeting was enough to make me forget the chill in the air, and the lingering darkness. 'Shall we begin by practising the cat's circle?' it was a very simple form, but it was the first in a series of rapidly ascending turns and thrusts that led into the development of offensive forms. They were the first non-defensive forms that a Cassiline novice learns, and I was excited that I was growing out of simply marking my spheres and angles.

'And then will you teach me the _danse du mâle_?'

'Yes, if you do well.' I smiled broadly, and bowed my head. 'Blessed Cassiel,' father prayed, our habitual precursor to the exercises, 'thy sight upon us, thy oath within us, we thank thee for thy disciplines.'

'Blessed Cassiel, we thank thee.' I echoed, then, we bowed to one another and began to flow, side-by-side, through our forms.

As my body fell into the familiar rhythm, my mind wandered to the night previous. After Ysandre's announcement, father swept mother off to dance, and Imriel offered his hand to the queen herself. I had sat for some little time with Sidonie, without speaking, hoping she would give me a reason to return to Laurient.

'You met Bertran's son?' she inquired softly. I nodded. 'Do you find him a little irrepressible?' I glanced at her, and saw the deep mischief in her cool Cruithne eyes.

'My lady, it is not for me to press judgement upon the scions of the great houses.'

'Oh, come!' she pressed my hands. 'You are very like Imriel when he was young, you know? You are so distant and unapproachable, yet you expect everyone to like you.' She laughed. 'But I do like you, Anafielle. Did you know it?'

'Her Majesty has the right to think of me what she will. And anyhow,' I looked at our hands together, at her long, slender fingers beside my square-tipped, broad-knuckled ones, calloused from riding and shooting bows, and from handling daggers, 'they are all saying how obvious it is why you wish to foster me.'

'Do you not know?' she sighed, and stroked my hand. Her touch was like silk, the unconscious acceptance of her beauty a thing which I would never know. 'Well, it is hardly a story for a fête. Come, I see Mavros Shahrizai beckoning to me. Will you dance with him?'

I well recalled my dance with Lord Mavros, how Sidonie presented me like a new and delectable sweet, and how he took my hands in both of his, as an adult should with a child, but his grip was like iron, and I wondered whether he knew it. He held me as though he thought I might try to escape, leading me elegantly through a quadrille, covering my awkwardness with a firm command that was all too easy to submit to. I remembered well his charming conversation, on nothing in particular, like cream-froth, his dangerous smile, and the way my mother was waiting for me when the song ended.

'Your forms are mathematical, Ana,' my father said, as we completed the cat's circle, 'but when we begin sparring, you shall have to remember to keep your mind on your opponent.'

'I know.' I was pleased at his compliment, and at the hint that we should soon begin sparring training. I wiped beads of sweat from my upper lip, and turned toward the window. Mother was watching, sipping from a mug, her gaze soft and contemplative, but still canny. There was somewhat in her sharp mind, and I told father I thought so.

'Your mother,' he sighed, 'is always planning something, Ana. It would take a Shahrizai to equal her, though one has never beaten her.' He paused. 'In cunning, anyhow.' A faint smile touched his eyes.

'Not even Imri?' he stared at me for a moment, then chuckled softly.

'Betimes, Imri has. Never for very long, but betimes.'

'And not even a Cassiline, trained and proper, could best you, eh, papa?'

He suddenly looked uneasy. 'Ana, I know what stories you have heard, from the poems, from our retainers at Montrève, and from your mother and I. But I wish you to know that I bested David de Rocaille because he did not know how to kill, and because he had naught to live for.'

'And you had maman?'

'And I had Phèdre.' He repeated quietly. 'Twas not Cassiel who took victory, that day, but Elua. Remember that.'

'I will.' I replied, then grinned, tapping his vambrace with my dagger. 'Now, you will teach me the _danse du mâle_?'

'Yes, indeed.' He nodded, and we fell into first form, shoulder to shoulder, 'We will begin in the same manner as the _cygnus_.' I raised my right arm at an acute angle above my head, my left extending behind me for leverage, and I followed my father's lead carefully, conscious of the muscles turning and working in my body, the grips on my daggers, the balance of my feet.

We drilled for some time, and the sun rose, casting our shadows across the courtyard, glinting in our eyes. I learned the _danse du mâle_ that morning till I could have done it in my sleep, and then reviewed the simpler, base forms. It was important, my father said, to remember the origins of every form, of every move.

By the time we had finished, breakfast had been served―a smattering of savoury and sweet pastries, fresh bread, preserves and butter, apple honey, and cold milk. My father and I towelled our sweat off, and sat at the table with my mother, Hugues, and Ti-Philippe.

'You have received,' my mother began, buttering a slice of bread, and sliding it toward me, 'some letters from your peers in the City.'

'My peers?' I gazed at her, astonished. 'I don't know anyone.'

'You know Laurient de Trevalion.' She replied. 'It seems that he has invited you to ride with him. And Colette Zornín de Aragon has sent, on behalf of her daughter, Eldora, an invitation to her natality. It seems, also, as though the Shahrizai have some interest in you.'

'Is that so unusual?' I murmured. 'They seek power, you have said. Imriel is Crown Prince to Terre d'Ange, but he has no children yet. If it looks as though he would adopt his foster sister, it is in their interest to cultivate my favour. Besides, the bad blood between our family and theirs disappeared with Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel.'

My mother fixed a look upon me that caused the bottom of my stomach to drop away, and I fell silent. 'Mavros Shahrizai petitions, on behalf of his son, Taurus, that you visit the Shahrizai hunting lodge with Imriel, when he goes to see his cousins.'

'Lord Mavros has a son?'

'Indeed, though the identity of the boy's mother has been a mystery these twelve years, and he bears naught but the stamp of the Shahrizai upon him.'

'Phèdre,' father said, 'she has no need to hear about intrigues.'

'You seemed taken by Lord Mavros, Anafiel,' mother smiled. I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

'It is difficult not to feel something for someone who is so like Imri.' I lied, my eyes averted from my mother's. I knew she saw my falsehood, but I did not care.

'Do you think they are so like, my love?' amusement sparkled in her tone, and I knit my brow.

'Like and unlike,' I replied, for I sensed she wished a well-thought answer. 'Imri has a sort of peace about him that I think Lord Mavros will never enjoy. At least,' I tapped my chin, 'not till he stops smiling at every woman as though she were Naamah herself.'

'Name of Elua, Phèdre!' Ti-Philippe exclaimed, 'What have you been teaching this child of yours?'

'Far less than her namesake taught me when I was scarce older.' She fixed her eyes upon me again. 'So, you will read the letters?'

'Do you wish it?'

'It must be your decision, Anafiel.' She said, turning from me and feigning a causal bite from a jam tart.

'Phèdre, you see that she is your daughter, as well.' Father smiled behind his napkin.

'I will read the letters.' I said haughtily, conscious that I was being mocked. 'And I will, at least, go riding with Laurient de Trevalion.'

When breakfast had ended, my mother led me into the parlour, and pointed to my letters. She had sorely misrepresented the amount of correspondence I had received. There were some twenty envelopes piled, one upon the other, with seals of the great houses impressed in the sealing wax. 'Must I read them all?' I inquired pleadingly.

'You said you would read them,' mother said, with a peculiar tilt of her head. 'Come,' she sat on a divan, and spread her arms out to me. 'Come, my love, we shall read them together.' I smiled, sinking into her embrace, as she reached for the first envelope, bearing an imprint of a mask, the sun and moon combined. 'The seal of the Marquisate de Fhirze,' she said, eyebrows raised. 'I was not aware they had children.' She took the letter, and cracked the seal, withdrawing the missive.

'You know the Marquis de Fhirze?' I guessed at the identity of the author. She nodded, smiling.

'He was a patron of mine, with his sister.' She scanned the letter. 'Ah, they do not have a child your age. Diànne has a son, but he is wellnigh twenty now. And Apollonaire's daughter is fifteen. They wish to see me, with my family. Well, that is for me to reply to.' I selected the next letter, which was open already, with the intertwined keys of House Shahrizai. 'From Mavros.' Mother gave it to me, and I read.

It was couched in the most formal terms, informing me that Imriel would visit Lord Sacriphant's hunting lodge in two weeks' time, and offering an invitation that I should accompany him, in order to meet my peers of House Shahrizai, particularly Taurus, who was twelve years of age, and was deeply interested in his uncle Imriel's foster sister.

My mother read, also, Laurient's note, penned in a hand, she said, that was not his father's. She suspected that, owing to the warmth and familiarity of the voice, that not only had Laurient himself written it, but that he had inherited the gregarious charm of his grandfather, Ghislain nó Trevalion. He requested my presence during a hunting party which his father had arranged, and which he believed, based upon our conversation, which I might enjoy. He added, also, that he had no intentions of hunting himself, but would rather take a quiet ride with me.

'You are already making friends, Anafiel.'

'So it seems.' I replied, a little discomfited by the pile of letters from people I had scarcely met, all climbing over one another to secure my favour, only because I would spend a year in fosterage with the queen.

'You are a little thoughtful, and I understand why.' Mother whispered, drawing my head against her breast. 'I was, perhaps, mistaken not to tell you when Ysandre first wrote to me, but I thought you would rebel against the idea.'

'If you wanted it so very much, you might have convinced me. You know I do not like the City, but I love you, and I love Imriel. It is enough, maman, that you both wish it.'

'Well, and so,' she breathed, 'you will take only the rendezvous that you like, and I shall accompany you.'

'You make me seem so provincial,' I protested.

'You are provincial. It will be charming to them, trust me. And this young Lord de Trevalion already writes to you himself, rather than allowing his father to do so.'

'But I am not like you, not graceful and not ladylike. Could I not take Ti-Philippe, or Hugues?'

'Do you think a chevalier or a guardsman would be a fitting chaperon for a young lady of status? For the foster-daughter of the Queen of Terre d'Ange?'

'No.' I replied, pouting a little. 'You do not wish me to keep company with the Shahrizai, do you?'

'They are dangerous, love, even Mavros, though he fostered in Montrève, and has been a very good friend to Imriel. I do not like the Shahrizai, Anafiel, but mayhap there would be somewhat for you to learn from them.'

'I will take Imriel's council on it.' I reasoned. 'Surely, he will have the right of it.'

'No doubt.' Mother kissed me, and lifted another letter from the pile. 'Here, this is from Colette Zornín de Aragon. Come, she is, at least, related to the queen by marriage. Her husband is Ysandre's nephew. You have an invitation to her daughter's natality.' I sighed and settled in to listen to the next offers.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the characters I've invented. I make no profit from this work. It is purely for my own entertainment.

FOUR

Imriel came to escort mother and me to the house of Raul and Colette Zornín de Aragon. Father had declined to attend, and I thought, perhaps, it was because he was disinclined, simply, to attend on City nobles. As we were about leaving, however, I came upon my parents in an antechamber, heads close together, murmuring in the sort of tone grown-ups use when they disagree, but not significantly enough to argue.

'You are certain you will not attend?' mother cooed, her hand upon his breast. Papa chuckled low, and ironically.

'I wish Nicola the joy of you, Phèdre,' he replied. 'Imri is an escort enough.'

'Ah, but you never taught him to ward a charge.'

'Do you expect to be unsafe in the Aragonian prince's household?'

'Ah, Joscelin,' she said, and turned toward me, where I stood, nearly concealed at the corner of the hall. 'Come, my little angel,' she leant toward me, arms outstretched. 'Say good day to your father. Imriel is waiting in the carriage.'

I sidled toward my father, and he embraced me. It was the only thing I did with very much grace, interacting with him. Perhaps he recalled the awkwardness of his own colt's years, or mayhap it was simply a trick of my blood, but whether it was Cassiline forms, dancing or simply stepping into the circle of his arms, my father always made me forget my body's half-grown inelegance.

'I do not tell you to behave yourself, Ana,' he pressed his lips to my forehead, 'but I shall tell you not to be so solemn. Make friends of these children. They are not like you, but they are really not so bad as all that.'

'Are they not?' I grinned. 'Well, I shall do my best to present Montrève in proper honour.'

'It is well.' He smoothed my hair, and the chiffon yellow dress which my mother had wrestled me into. 'I shall see you for supper.' He kissed mother, 'and you, I shall tell to behave.' He smirked, and she replied with a secret smile. 'For supper, then.' She promised.

We entered the carriage, which was adorned with the arms of House Courcel, driver and footman dressed in Royal livery. It was drawn by a pair of charming dapple-greys, but they were a strange breed, which I had not seen before, narrow-barrelled, with strong haunches, but long, slender legs. They could not, either, have been taller than fifteen hands, and I marvelled at how they could have pulled a vehicle, even with combined strength.

Imriel embraced me as I clambered into the coach, my mother clucking her tongue and murmuring about mud stains on my hem. 'Ah, Phèdre, you will astonish the City of Elua, yet, with Ana. She looks a very picture of elegance.' He paused, and studied me. 'Although,' he hesitated, 'do you recall Alais at her age?'

'Do not encourage her, Imriel,' mother sighed. 'She has such little interest in the little minutiae that I would have her learn, and yet, she is, every morning, at the forms with Joscelin.'

'As was I.'

'You were not the daughter of the most celebrated courtesan in three hundred years.'

'I was her son,' he replied quickly, 'And besides, Ana shall learn a perfection of movement through the disciplines that never was afforded you in Cereus House.'

'It is true. It is what I remember first, about Joscelin. How he was so damnably fluid, and beautiful.'

'And Anafielle will strike a similar chord in the City of Elua when she attains her majority.'

'Except I shall not be so beautiful as Papa.' I said, and they both stared at me, astonished.

'Do you think so?' Imriel laughed. 'It is just as well, Phèdre, he pressed her hand, 'she shall not be simply another vain peacock.'

'I fear as much,' mother kissed me, 'for neither she nor her father seem at all conscious of themselves.' Then, pulling herself from her study of my young, open features, she returned to Imriel. 'So, how fares Sidonie? And when shall you give Terre d'Ange an heir to follow her?' Their conversation drifted, then to matters of the Royal family, then to various intrigues in which I had no interest. I dare say that if I had attended better to my mother and Imriel's games of covertcy, I might have better comprehended many things in my childhood that I have since made sense of.

We pulled up in the courtyard of an elegant villa, which I immediately guessed was either owned by provincials or foreigners, for it was painted a peculiar shade of earthy red, and every trellis, gate, arabesque, and wall was covered in the vines of flowers which, in the spring, would be bright and colourful, if a little gauche. We were not announced, but rather, led by an attendant into the atrium, where a gaggle of children and parents were gathered round free standing tables, filled with easily-consumed pastries and sweetmeats. In one corner, a group of tumblers and a story-teller were entertaining several children, while in another, musicians played a lively air for dancing.

There were tables for games, piles of gifts, and guests interacting in pairs and groups. I fumbled for Imriel's hand, feeling suddenly lost. He smiled down at me, and drew me forward, as a beautiful, bronze-haired woman, with L'Envers violet eyes came toward us. 'Phèdre! Prince Imriel! How are you?' she embraced my mother, and Imri kissed her hand. 'And is this Anafielle Verreuil?' she glanced at me shrewdly. 'Well, could she be anything but Joscelin's get?'

'Anafiel,' my mother said, 'this is Lady Nicola L'Envers y Aragon. She is our host's mother, and the queen's cousin.'

I bowed to her, and she laughed. 'Ysandre said something of this, to me.' She bent, kissed me on both cheeks, and I felt no cloying remains of carmine from her lips. For that alone, I liked her better. She led us back toward a bard, laden with food. 'Come, have something, and I shall alert Raul to your presence.' She turned away, and my mother followed her, entrusting me to Imriel's care, with a smile and a jest concerning my imminent fosterage.

'Come,' he took my hand, and led me to a little white chair, that had been adorned with ribbons of every colour, upon which was perched a girl, of my age, though of a far more delicate constitution, with dark hair and eyes, and an unbearably fair skin. There was somewhat in her stubborn mouth that recalled echoes of Lady Nicola, but there was another woman standing behind her, who resembled her far more strongly, though she was blonde and blue-eyed.

'Imriel!' she laughed, launching herself warmly into his arms. 'I did not expect you to find time to come!'

'I am escorting my foster mother and sister. Colette, this is Anafielle Verreuil, Viscomtesse de Montrève.'

'Good day, vicomtesse.' Colette Zornín kissed me gently. 'This is my daughter, Eldora.' She motioned toward the girl in the chair, who rose, and kissed me also.

'Good day, vicomtesse, Prince Imriel,' she said, 'and welcome to my natality.'

'Good day, and a joyous natality to you.' I replied, and was pleased to witness a smile quirking the edges of her serious little mouth.

'Will you have a game of quoits with me?' she offered, waving her arm at a set of coloured wooden discs, and several pegs placed upright upon a board.

'If it would please you, I should like it very much.' I bowed, 'And please, my name is Anafielle.'

'I am Eldora.' She took my hand, and led me to the set. 'It is a game of sleight,' she explained, when I had expressed my ignorance of the game, and went on to display the various flicks and turns required to settle a disc over the pegs, which colours procured the most points, and other subtleties of play, and I soon found that I was no mean hand at it. Eldora was a quick-witted and charming girl, with a peculiar talent for putting me at my ease, and we soon were laughing like a pair of the closest friends.

'Is Laurient de Trevalion here?' I inquired, as she passed my score by three points, and I attempted to throw a green disc over a purple stake, worth eight points together.

'Laurient de Trevalion?' she laughed. 'Why are you asking after him? He is so ridiculous, thinking he shall be the Royal Commander some day.'

'How is that ridiculous? His grandfather was, and his father has distinguished himself in Azzalle, or at least that is what is said.'

'Well, yes,' she paused, 'but he does get ahead of himself, does he not?' she gave a charming moue as my shot sailed home. 'Oh, but you will win. I only have two more goes. And anyhow, where did you meet Laurient? I thought you had only been in the City of Elua for a little more than a week.'

'It is so,' I shrugged, 'but he attended the Royal fête at which my fosterage was announced.'

'Ah, by invitation of Prince Imriel, as I understand. That is true. Is he not your foster brother?'

'He was fostered at Montrève before I was born.' I replied.

'Well, as I think you will be very interesting when you enter the palace,' her brow creased a little, as she chose a red disc, and aligned her shot, 'I shall give you a piece of advice.'

'Advice?' I attended seriously, for Eldora seemed to me to be a very worldly girl, with understanding beyond my provinciality. 'Concerning Laurient?'

'Well, we have not been speaking of anyone else.' She flipped the disc over its peg. 'Ah, only four points. Yes, concerning Laurient. He is a little much of an egoist. My mother says he is the very model of his father, both inside and out, and she does not overmuch care for Bertran de Trevalion, though they were friends, once. He treats her poorly, and has since she married my father. It is because she entered the Royal family by wedding a foreigner. And so what? My father is half Aragonian, and proud of it. Mother says that if it were not for my grandpère, in Amílcar, Prince Imriel should never have been recovered. And that is what I think of Laurient de Trevalion, as well.' I did not see so well how this had anything to do with Laurient, but I had an instinct to hold my tongue, and my hand, and I submitted the game to Eldora. 'Oh!' she frowned a little. 'You have allowed me to win, Anafielle!'

'Well, and so,' I replied, 'it is your natality.'

'You must not make such old-fashioned concessions to me.' She took my hands in hers. 'We are both children of brave new bloodlines, and we must be honest with one another if we are to be friends. Should you like to be friends with me?'

'I should, very much.' I said, eagerly. Eldora was, on that day, turning ten years of age, which, in Terre d'Ange, is a significant time, during which so many things are introduced.

'Well, then, you must not ever lose to me a-purpose.' She seemed very serious, and I nodded. 'Oh,' her nose wrinkled a little, 'there is Laurient. He is coming this way.'

I turned quickly, and nearly ran into him. He was standing still, very close behind me, his hands in his pockets, and looking round, as though he had come upon us by accident, though by the glint in his grey eyes, I knew better. 'Good day, Lady Zornín de Aragon, and Vicomtesse de Montrève.' He bowed gallantly, smiling, and, while I smiled back, I heard Eldora emit a little huff of distaste.

'Good day, Lord de Trevalion.' We said, nearly in unison, but while Eldora spoke in a tone of thinly disguised annoyance, I saw no need to express anything but joy at seeing him.

'Would you like to dance, vicomtesse? It is well to see you here. Mayhap we could discuss the letter I sent you.'

I spared a glance for Eldora. She was studying me critically, but I shrugged. 'I should like very much to dance, my lord.' I took his offered hand, and he led me toward the players in the corner, where a few other children and their parents danced. He swung me into his arms, and led me into the quadrille smoothly.

'I see you have made friends with Eldora the Great and Powerful.'

'She does rather seem to have made some harsh judgements concerning you, my lord.'

'My lord?' he chuckled. 'Methought we were on friendlier terms. What then, has Lady Zornín convinced you that I am no more than a base and vile Boy, who is eschewed from all politeness and conversation?'

'Well, you called me vicomtesse.' I knit my brow in exasperation.

'I did not know, Anafielle,' he grinned, 'how far you wished Eldora to think our acquaintance had progressed. Indeed, you have a strange way of making friends, going into opposite camps, as you have.'

'How was I to know that you and she were at odds? I have not lived in the City for any length of time since I was a babe in arms.'

'Well, it is true,' he conceded, 'but I find that I rather like you. Will, then, you sacrifice me to be friends with her?'

'I see no reason to sacrifice either of you. I like the both of you, and I do not understand why you are not yourselves friends. You are both very certain of yourselves, and equally singular.'

'Singular?' he laughed. 'Am I, then?'

'She believes you to be the very image of your father, but I do not find it so.'

'You have met my father and I once. Mayhap we will both alter your perception of our characters. But anyhow, will you come to the hunt, and ride with me? It shall be insufferably dull without you.'

'My mother advises it, and my father does love to hunt. I think we shall attend, he and I. Shall I send a courier to you this evening?'

'No, I shall myself inform our steward that you have accepted my invitation.' He became a little serious, then. 'I am glad, you know, that you have decided not to listen to Eldora concerning me, and I understand that a girl must have other girls her age to be friends with, but I fear she will not be so understanding that you desire my company.'

'Well, it is her own folly, then.' I shrugged, clinging a little more tightly to his shoulder as he turned abruptly off the floor. 'Ah! Must you be so precipitous?' it was a moment before I realised that I had thrown him to the ground, instinctively following the path of the _piescat_, which I had been practising that morning. 'I beg pardon,' I said quickly, 'but you startled me.' He grasped the hand which I offered, dusting his hands on his trousers, a rueful smile on his face.

'Ah, it is nothing,' he protested, 'I did it a-purpose, to see what you would do.'

My eyes narrowed. 'If you wished to try me, you had only to ask.'

'Ah, but then you would have been prepared. I am, however, favourably impressed, and shall not embarrass you so again.' I glanced round, and noticed that four or five others were looking at us with no little interest, including Eldora and Imriel, who was speaking with a man who could have been no one but Eldora's father. 'As it is,' Laurient took my hand, pressing it warmly, 'I apologise.'

'No. I should better control myself.' I bowed to him, and he laughed afresh.

'You say that I am singular, Anafielle, but you are certainly the only girl I know who is capable of throwing me.' He gave me his arm. 'Come, meet some friends of mine.' I accepted, and followed him. I had thought, momentarily, that he would introduce me only to other boys, but the friends he brought me to were an even mix, a brother and sister, by the names of Béringuier and Pléiades Roualt, the children of the Minister of Culture, a girl in whom the striking beauty of d'Angeline blood and a peculiar Eastern exoticism, whom he introduced as Yseulte L'Envers Shambarsin de'l Khalifate, the daughter of Valère L'Envers and the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad, and two more boys, brothers, Estienne and Gaël de Morbhan, sons of the Duc de Morbhan, who were in the City of Elua with their mother. They were all polite and charming, and I recognised Béringuier and Pléiades Roualt from the letter their father, Thierry Roualt, had written, requesting my presence at some fête or other.

I drifted, then, between them, Eldora, and my mother. She introduced me to Raul Zornín de Aragon, Eldora's father, and I liked him instantly. He was a serious, tall man, though with a sort of sweet, soft brightness hidden behind his dark eyes that reminded me of my own father. He took my hand, and kissed it solemnly, informing me that Imriel had spoken of me, and that he was very pleased to have me at his daughter's natality.

By the time we were ready to return home, it was nearly sundown, and I was surprised to find that I did not wish to leave. I kissed Eldora farewell, and she said nothing of my closeness with Laurient. Neither did she display any significant coolness toward me for it.

When we returned, I found my father in the library, reading a letter from the Marquis de Toulard, detailing several improvements to the irrigation systems he and his Siovalese engineers had invented, and I settled in at his side, looking over his arm at the diagrams the marquis had drawn. 'These wheels,' I pointed to the mechanism, 'if you build one up on the edge of Mont Jesmaine, the wind would be about sufficient to turn it, yes?'

Papa glanced at me, a smile warming his features. 'You are truly a child of Siovale,' he pressed me closer beneath his arm, 'and yes, though Mont Jesmaine is a little far, and inconvenient to build a mill, for these operate to grind grain, as well as to move water.'

'Truly?' my eyes lighted upon a line of script in the marquis' bold, square hand. 'Oh, I see. There are a few alterations required before he builds one.'

'Yes, though I've no doubt he will have one in operation before spring arrives.' Mother entered here, and sat across from us, a fond smile playing across her lips. 'Phèdre. How was the occasion?'

'Joyous. Nicola spared no moment in reminding me that I had, yet, no grandchildren.'

'You know, when we do, they shall be shared with both the Queen of Terre d'Ange and Melisande Shahrizai.' Mother laughed at this observation.

'Do you believe I had not thought of it, Joscelin?' she shrugged. 'Well, and so, Melisande is hardly an issue any longer.'

'And Ysandre is?'

'Mayhap.' She replied, and it was papa's turn to laugh.

'Ah, Phèdre, you are incorrigible.' He grinned. 'Now, come along, Eugénie has toiled all afternoon to outdo the kitchens of Colette Zornín.'

Imriel returned the day following, at mother's request, to discuss with her whether I should accompany him to the Shahrizai hunting manor. They were closeted immediately he arrived, and, when papa found me listening at the door, he pulled me away by the ear. 'People always forget,' he remonstrated, 'how much of your mother is in you.' He thought for a moment. 'You shall have to be punished.' He said, carefully. 'Go to your room, and dress for riding.'

I stepped quickly, wondering if my father had taken leave of his senses, that he had forgotten how I loved taking Hephaestos out into the streets. I tugged on a pair of trousers, boots, and a warm riding jacket. When I met him in the stable, he was holding two horses. One was a high-stepping mare, warm-blooded, and very skittish, and the other, a slow-paced palfrey nag, with sprinklings of grey in her nose, and broad, boorish ears. 'Papa,' I sighed impatiently, 'where is Hephaestos?'

'You will not be riding Hephaestos, Ana. This is no reward, for intruding on your mother and brother's privacy. You are not to do so with your family, and you shall learn it thus.' He gazed evenly at me, and a little coal of stubborn resentment burbled up in me. 'Now, choose.' He offered both pairs of reins, and I hesitated. The young mare was one that I had often thought of riding, but it was Imriel's, and brooked few riders beside him. I had seen her throw even Ti-Philippe, who, though he had been a sailor in his youth, had since learnt very well to sit a horse. On the other hand, to ride the palfrey was to die of boredom.

I believe I was pouting rather harshly, by the amused look on my father's face. 'But this is appalling!' I exclaimed, 'This is no proper choice!'

'It is a choice for the young vicomtesse who values her family's trust so lightly that she will listen at doorways to private conversations. Now, choose.'

I stamped my foot in a petulant fury, raging at a punishment so cruel for so small an act of disobedience. 'Well, maman did not say I must not listen at the doorway.'

'And you know very well that if she believed you would benefit from the conversation, that you would have been invited into it. Now, do not try my patience further, Anafielle, but choose your mount, or I shall make the choice for you.'

'The palfrey.' I said finally, for my foul temper had been caught, it seemed by the mare, and I had no interest in breaking my neck. Furthermore, if I chose the nag, papa would be forced to deal with Imri's ill-tempered horse. I snatched the reins from him, and swung up into the saddle. I nearly expected the old creature to splinter beneath me, but she was no swaybacked dog fodder, to spill so light a rider. She had been a lady's horse, once, and was still as strong as a mule, though, mayhap, her mouth was a little hardened with her age.

Papa mounted the mare, and to my astonishment, she quieted beneath him, till she was as gentle as a kitten. Without a word, he urged her out into the street, and I followed. The palfrey was, indeed, not so difficult as I imagined, but the habits I had formed from riding so swift footed a horse as Hephaestos did not so well accord with this one. She did not get up anywhere past a tottering trot, and I felt quite the prize fool when we rode populated streets, passing nobles on their fine, young mounts, behind papa's high stepping mare, trailing him always by at least two lengths.

I followed him through the City of Elua, to the Temple of Eisheth on the fringe of Night's Doorstep. There, we dismounted, giving our horses to waiting attendants. We were greeted by a priestess, an apple-cheeked woman who smelled of healing lavender oil, who led us into the shrine, where the statue of Eisheth extended both hands in welcome. Rows of candles were blazing at her feet, and I knelt instinctively. Papa sank beside me, and it was a moment before he spoke.

'Mayhap, when you are older,' he said softly, 'and your sins are more dire, you shall have need of Kushiel's stern benediction.' I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. 'For now,' he continued, and I exhaled a rush of air in relief, 'you may entreat healing from Eisheth, who called you forth from a scarred womb, when your mother and I prayed to her.' I understood, then, how wise he was in selecting my lessons. He might have raged and beat me, when he found me peering into the keyhole of mother's study, a cup pressed against the door to amplify what was passing within. He might have sent me to Kushiel's Temple on the swift back of Hephaestos, under guise of a pleasure-jaunt, to have my sins expunged from me beneath a scourging, but he had, instead, led me painstakingly through the City at a snail's pace, that I might either become sullen and angry with him, or begin to think on and regret my actions. He knew, however, that whichever path I chose, that I should become immediately penitent upon entering Eisheth's divine presence.

'I think I understand, papa,' I stammered, my nose burning as I essayed to brook the emergence of my tears. I did not know why I so wished to weep. I was neither angry nor sad, and had never cried for any other reason, but the nameless emotion that filled me, swelling my heart nigh to bursting, demanded it of me.

'It is forgiveness, my love.' He pulled me into his arms, and I wept cleansing tears into his strong shoulder, quietly, holding very still that the other temple goers might not detect my sobs. My father held me tightly, till I finished, then produced a handkerchief, dipping it in a nearby fount and washing my face. 'Now, are you better?'

'Yes, papa.' I sniffed, straightening my back and aligning my shoulders, the pride seeping back into me. This, however, was not arrogance, but rather an acceptance of who I was. My birth had been a miracle, in many ways, and that I had not been born an _anguisette_ was another small mercy of Eisheth's. In that moment, I was deeply conscious of all that I was, and the honour that had been conferred to me by mere existence. 'And I shall essay to allow discretion when my family wishes it.'

'Come, then, it is time to return home.' He rose, pulling me with him. 'Mayhap your mother and Imriel have reached a decision concerning the Shahrizai.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the characters I've invented. I make no profit from this work. It is purely for my own entertainment.

FIVE

It did not surprise me that Imriel had fewer scruples at Mavros' proposition than did my parents. After all, he and the Shahrizai were kin. He had seen them entertain, had seen them languish, had observed them with their families, and had, no doubt, also seen them debauch. Furthermore, he trusted Mavros. My father did not like it, but deferred to mother in the matter, and she, in turn, to Imriel. Curiously enough, it seemed that Sidonie, too, was supporting my association with the house that had threatened, even before her birth, to dethrone her. It is true that she, herself, had declined their invitation in the face of her political duties, but she wished Imriel and I to go.

I heard, later, that Queen Ysandre had summoned Mavros Shahrizai, and made him swear, on pain of death, that nothing untoward should happen to me. I do not believe she thought I would be in any real danger, but it is true that she enjoyed discountenancing the Shahrizai in such ways, when she had the excuse.

I spent much time at the Palace over the next week, with my mother, though she was often closeted with either Ysandre or Imriel, while I was entertained by Sidonie. I came to like her a fair sight better during those hours, when I, with my restlessness expunged by my morning exercise with father, would walk with her in the Palace gardens, my hand in hers, while she told me stories of her childhood. I vaguely recalled her father, Drustan mab Necthana, Cruarch of Alba, as a man with her dark eyes and stubborn spirit, big, rough hands, and strange blue markings limned into his face, like my mother's marque was limned into her back. I remembered liking him, the power in his presence, and in the affection he displayed for my parents. Sidonie seemed to know, already, my interests, and spoke knowledgeably on horses and hunting.

One afternoon, she brought me to the Royal stables, and showed me the pair of greys that had pulled the carriage to Eldora's party. They were stabled together, and I remarked afresh how unique their lines were, and their peculiarly curved ears. 'Do you like them?' Sidonie inquired.

'They are beautiful,' I replied, 'but I have never seen their like.'

'Neither have many d'Angelines.' She reached forward toward one of them, which had reached its nose over the stall door, and nuzzled her palm. 'They serve to remind us that beauty is not confined to Terre d'Ange.'

'Where are they from?'

'Khebbel-im-Akkad. They were a gift from the Khalif. He bred them from his finest horses, and out of Umaiyatti stock.'

'Oh, I met his daughter.' I said unthinkingly, remembering a girl with hooded eyes and a beauty which was rendered the more striking by its exoticism.

'Yes,' Sidonie smiled. 'Little Yseulte. She and her mother are visiting the City of Elua from the Khalifate, and Yseulte will remain here for tutelage till she is sixteen, and ready to try suitors. She will be your cousin, when I foster you.'

'So, then, I will be your daughter, and not your sister?'

'My mother has many things to attend to, and the responsibility of looking after a kingdom. As much as she would like to return to motherhood, she is not at liberty to give you the attention you will require. Besides, I have been of some experience in this field before I get with child myself.' She stroked my cheek. 'Would you prefer my mother?'

'No.' I said, a little quickly for politeness. 'I mean, she is stern betimes, and you, well…Imri loves you, so there must be somewhat very special in you.' She laughed at this.

'I will be honoured, if you would yourself see it, rather than trusting blindly to Imriel's judgment that which you cannot yourself perceive.'

I lifted my chin. 'I do like you, majesty,' I said, perhaps a little haughtily, 'you give me more reason to respect you every day.' At this, she smiled, and embraced me.

'I hope, someday, to show you that I am more than a figurehead, and an object for distant respect.'

'And I hope,' I interposed, grinning back, 'that I do not prove to embarrass you. Doubtless my mother has told you how she despairs of ever making me a lady.'

'Well, you shall have lessons enough, in the Palace.' She straightened. 'I shall see to it.' I looked dubiously at her. 'Come, Anafielle, to my study. I have a gift for you there, should it be your pleasure to receive it.'

I bowed. 'Your majesty will lead me anywhere, and I must follow.' It was a paraphrase of something I had heard my father say, betimes, to my mother, which always pleased her, and Sidonie seemed, also, to find it charming. Taking me by the hand, she led me back into the Palace proper, and, as we passed through a hall, we encountered a peculiar character.

He was standing in the Hall of Portraits, in an attitude of waiting, dressed in military regalia, with close-cropped, iron grey hair and violet eyes. He impressed me, at once, as hunter, with a lounging quality that was too much like a wildcat for comfort, and an expression which might have made a hawk blink.

'Uncle Barquiel.' Sidonie greeted him frostily. 'Pray, what is signified by your presence?'

'Dauphine, I bring word from the Khalifate, to be shared only with you, or your mother.' He spoke in brisk, clipped tones, shooting uncomfortable glances at me as he did so. 'And whose brat is this?' he barked suddenly, and I felt a jerking desire to strike him, though I thought he would not hesitate to strike me back.

'This, uncle, is Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse de Montrève.' Somewhat sparked in Sidonie' voice, and the man took two steps toward me, taking my chin in one hand and forcing my eyes up to his.

'The daughter of Delaunay's _anguisette_, eh?' his tone became derisive. 'No dart in this one's eye, I see.' I batted his hand away, conscious that he was Sidonie's blood relative, naming him, in my mind, a L'Envers, and the former Royal Commander and sometime regent of Terre d'Ange. I did not care if he was the Sultan of Khebbel-im-Akkad, but he would not treat me so cavalierly.

'I am, my Lord.' I gave my Cassiline bow. 'And that of Joscelin Verreuil.' His bark of laughter startled me further.

'A fine morsel you shall make for the court someday, little Montrève. Some diversion, perhaps, from the limp-wristed inbreds we have crawling out of the woodwork.' Something hardened further in his eyes, and I would have blanched, had I been alone in his presence.

'Uncle,' Sidonie's voice was commanding, 'you will find that my mother is indisposed, but if you would please to wait for me, I shall be with you directly.'

'Of course.' He drawled lazily, and made a curt bow, scarce inclining his head. 'I shall await you in the throne room.'

Sidonie took my hand, then, and led me to her study. It was a room filled with books, draped in greens and blues, with high windows which were, presently, covered by heavy, brocaded drapes. Motioning me to sit, she went to a recess, and withdrew a little box, wrapped in green velvet, about as large as my outstretched hand.

'This was to be yours when you came to live here, but I cannot wait. You must promise, however, to use it only for writing to Imriel or myself until you are fostered proper. Agreed?'

'Agreed.' I lifted the lid, and found, nestled in a bed of silk, a pair of seals, one attached to the end of a signet, and the other set into a silver ring. I looked uncomprehendingly at the reversed shield, divided in three, with a swan, a sheaf of corn, and Kushiel's dart, inset. I blinked, then looked at Sidonie.

'Do you like it?' she waited for my reply, almost eagerly, and I smiled at the mixture of excitement and trepidation in her eyes. I nodded.

'Yes, I like it very much, your majesty. It is a fitting gift, and one which I shall use.'

'Not till your fosterage, remember, unless it be to Imriel or me. It might be seen as impertinent, otherwise.'

'I promise.' I secreted the box in my pocket, and stood.

'Now, Anafielle,' Sidonie said, 'I regret I must go entertain my uncle. Will you be all right on your own?'

'I will go find Ti-Philippe.' I replied. 'I know where he is.'

'It is well.' She kissed me, and, leading me from her study, disappeared down the hall toward the throne room.

Though Sidonie had gone, I was not, however, alone. There were guards in every hall, and I knew Hugues and Ti-Philippe would be in the Hall of Games, so it was there I retired. I found Philippe dicing at a table with three other men, and he pulled me fondly onto his lap, kissing my hair. I smiled at his avuncular attentions, amused had having gone from entertaining the future queen to being embraced by a former sailor, and preferring by far the sailor.

'Hey, little Ana,' he said, 'come to bring me luck?'

'Philippe,' I turned to him, brows knitting, 'am I simply being contrary, or is Barquiel L'Envers the most distasteful bastard in the world?'

He laughed, as did his dicing companions. 'Oh, I don't know, Ana, your papa can be a right foul git where your mère's safety is concerned.' I slid from his lap, and studied the men sitting with him. They were all Palace guardsmen, between the ages of thirty and forty-five, and Ti-Philippe held undoubted seniority in their midst. As I looked down at the coins they had each collected, I realised that Ti-Philippe must know, and be friends with these men, as he was not cheating at all, and therefore, what followed had been a fairly even fall of luck on all sides.

'Philippe, why was I never taught to play quoits?'

'Well, when had we time to play children's games with you?' he withdrew a weathered and creased deck of cards from his pocket and handed it to me, instructing me to shuffle it. 'We taught you the games we played, and you like them, do you not?'

'Yes,' I shuffled the cards, as he had taught me, flicking them over one another to ensure an even fall.

'They are games I wished to play, and games you wished to learn. What is all this about quoits, anyway? Has someone introduced to you it?'

'Yes, at a party.'

'Well, you shall have plenty of your own games to teach these noble children, yourself. I'll wager that none of them is as good hand at rubayar, or jack-a-knapes. And I own that there never was a finer hand at rhythmomachy, at least, not one your age.'

'Yes, but are those the sort of games that it is civilised to play?'

'Civilised?' he snorted. 'They are the games of civilised d'Angeline men. Consider yourself well taught at them, and accept new knowledge as a gift.' He seemed a little annoyed that I was questioning the merit of all the games he had taught me, and motioned impatiently to have his cards back. 'Shall we have a game with four in hand, lads?' he inquired of his companions, and they all nodded assent.

'May I play?' I reached into my pocket, and produced some small coins. 'I promise to hold my tongue and not to cheat.' Ti-Philippe glanced at his fellows.

'She will be out of money after one hand.' He assured them, and they all shrugged. I daresay they were curious to see how I would fare. He dealt the cards swiftly, with a familiar hand for the old deck, and we set to the game.

I was not out of funds by the end of the first round, nor, even at the second. I did not, it is true, win every hand, but I won enough that by the end of an hour, I was wealthier by some five ducats. When my mother came to collect me, she smiled ruefully at Ti-Philippe. 'It is one thing to dice with my daughter in Montrève, where the roughest company she may fall into is that of Charles Friote, but here? In the Hall of Games? Ah, talk will spread, Philippe.'

'Well, and so,' I replied defiantly, shooting a grin at our steward, 'it is a game of civilised men.' I parroted him, and he coloured.

'Lady Phèdre, it is only that…well, she asked to join the game, and she is a fair hand. Besides, it isn't as though some Bryony adept will be carting her off to the Night Court the moment they hear she plays wagering games.'

Mother laughed. 'Come along, we will retire to the house. The Trevalion hunt is on the morrow, and then we give Anafiel to Imriel's keeping for the next four days, and wish him and those poor Shahrizai the joy of her.'

As Ti-Philippe stood, he murmured, 'I hear Barquiel L'Envers is returned from his sojourn in the Khalifate.'

'Yes,' mother's face turned solemn. 'It seems as though Menekhet is on the rise.'

Papa escorted me to the Trevalion hunt, which was held a little way out of the City. I had been impatient to ride Hephaestos again, for much of the travelling within the City of Elua had been by carriage. Hephaestos greeted me warmly when I went to saddle him, whickering effusively and thrusting his nose into my belly, lipping at the buttons on my jacket. He kept a very jaunty pace, as we rode, and I felt so keenly the happiness of riding him that I began to sing aloud, a charming country air which my aunt Jehane had taught me.

When we arrived on the scene of the hunt, Laurient and his father greeted us immediately, and my father was whisked away to find some bolts for his bow. Laurient dismounted to greet me, and I did the same, giving him the kiss of greeting. 'It is good to see you, Anafielle,' his grey eyes sparkled, 'for I am not yet allowed to join the hunt, and my father sees no reason to allow me any other companions. Come, will you have some refreshment before our little excursion?'

I accepted, and he led me toward a pavilion decorated with the Trevalion arms, in which was a board, with cheese and bread, and a flask of a warm cordial. Laurient poured two glasses, and sliced a bit of cheese, offering me a glass. 'Where are we going to ride?'

'Well,' he motioned toward the outside, 'the hunt will, of course, be held in the wood, but there are a few orchards and vineyards through which we have leave to promenade. Do you think that appeals to you, or shall we simply go round to the highway?'

'No, no.' I shook my head. 'That sounds charming, indeed. I have just gotten off the highway, and it is very dry. Observe, the dust upon my boots.'

'Well enough,' he paused, taking a mouthful of cordial. 'Will you have a fresh horse?'

'Oh, no. Hephaestos will be so put out if I should stable him now. He is jealous of me, and has not, besides, had much exercise lately. I think he would sulk at me on the way home if I did not take him.'

'As you wish. My own courser, Stygies, has Aragonian bloodlines, and is impatient enough to have some exercise.' We left the pavilion, and outside found a pair of attendants holding our mounts. Hugues had accompanied my father and I, in order to chaperon me, and he sat astride his own horse.

Laurient and I mounted up, and I followed him to the orchards he had mentioned, talking all the while about various fêtes and gatherings I had endured over the course of the past two weeks, not the least of which was a dinner with Apollonaire and Diànne de Fhirze and their families, at which we had been treated to live wrestling in their dining room as we supped. 'They are notorious,' Laurient observed, 'and have been for over twenty years. It is not that they are so outrageous, but that they have carried on like a pair of Orchis adepts even now, well into their fifties.' I knew it to be so, indeed, for the wit had flown thickly during the evening, and even my father had not been exempt from bearing the brunt of a few bantering remarks.

It was not strange for me to see my mother smiling and laughing with hosts, but papa had been very civil himself, even bearing up to the flirting of the Marquise's son with a few fine jests concerning the discipline of Cassiline chastity allowing only for the most exquisite of Naamah's servants. I myself had been taken under the wing of the Marquis' daughter, a girl of fifteen, who appeared rather older, owing to the ironic glint in her eye. She had spoken to me at length of the niceties of wrestling, blushing when her parents' jests became rather more libertine than was wont in the presence of young children. We are d'Angeline, however, and love is well known to us all.

'They are a singular pair, and their children more so. I did not observe the presence of a wife or husband of either the Marquis or Marquise.'

'Ah, that is another little peculiarity of their choices,' Laurient nodded sagely. 'They produced their heirs by contract with Bryony House. It is said that the wager was a pair of true-blooded heirs against their entire estate, and the Marquisate came out the winner.'

'It is indeed singular,' I marvelled that Bryony adepts had made so wild a bargain, but it did take much of the guesswork out of producing a heirs to an estate that was double seated, and neither was it much a surprise that the wild pair of Apollonaire and Diànne had dared to mingle their blood with that of one of the Houses of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers.

'Tell me,' Laurient interposed upon my thoughts, 'have you friends your age in Montrève?'

'Not my age,' I reflected, 'but there is a crop of children younger than I. I have friends. Ti-Philippe, our steward, and Charles Friote, who is one of our guardsmen at Montrève, he taught me to trap and skin rabbits. I spend my days very well, at my county. What of your friends?'

'Well, you met Béringuier Roualt, and Gaël de Morbhan. Betimes we ride together, or have our lessons with the same tutor. But I like you better than I like them.'

We rode for some time, dismounting here and there to observe a stream, or a late-migrated group of geese, speaking about Montrève and the Duchy Trevalion, at which Laurient had spent the autumn. He told me of the sailors, of soldiers, and I found that we had a mutual friend in Admiral Quintilius Rousse, who had been a good friend of my mother, and had known her since her childhood, and visited us often in Montrève. I knew, also, his son, an Eiran giant, and Imriel's boon companion, Eamonn mac Grainne, of whom I had always heard much, but whom I had only met thrice.

By the end of the hunt, we had come round to the pavilions, a feast had been spread out in the largest, and I ran toward my father. I would have embraced him, but I saw that his hands were covered to the wrist in blood. 'I skinned the buck,' he explained, before I had a moment to worry whether it was his, 'and have not had time to make ablutions.'

'Here, I will help,' I led him to a salver of warm water, and received a cotton rag from an attendant, and sloughed away the drying blood. Laurient was looking up at his father, and speaking solemnly, but our eyes caught briefly as he passed, and he winked at me. I felt heat rising to my face, and dropped my gaze back to the task at hand.

'Did you enjoy your ride?' my father inquired.

'Yes. And the hunt?'

'Well enough,' he grinned at me. 'There are times when I have been in better form.' I turned one of his arms toward me, in order to get at a bit of blood at his elbow, and he winced. 'My left arm, Ana,' he murmured, hair falling into his eyes. I apologised, for it was the arm that had once been shattered by a morningstar mace, nearly twenty years ago. 'It caught between myself and the buck, as it was in its last struggles. It is a little tender.' I traced my fingers up the veins and corded muscle of my father's arm as I dried away the water, as though I might impart a measure of my own strength into him, to ease the pain. When I looked up at him, he was smiling. 'It is nothing more than a brief discomfort, love,' he bent forward, and kissed my forehead, and his hair fell round our faces like cables of wheat. 'Let us avail ourselves of the Duc de Trevalion's bounty.'

We fell to the board, and it was a bounty indeed. The buck they had felled was roasting, and being served in dense slabs, fresh from the fire. I filled my plate with dripping venison, seasoned with slices of garlic and rubbed over with bruised rosemary sprigs. I wondered whether there should be much hunting at the Shahrizai lodge, and if I should be permitted to join, rather than riding on the sidelines with the children. I had hunted, at Montrève, and was even a fair hand with the bow. If I had not yet the strength the bend of a bow to send a shaft much farther than ten feet, I was at least a more than accurate shot. I wondered, too, how I should get on with Mavros Shahrizai's mysterious son, and how, indeed, I should appear to their family, of which I knew so little, and had heard so much unsaid.

I remember, now, that day, as a warm and shadowy descent into the complexity of my future life. I recall well how simple riding with Laurient was, and how his eyes shone for me, how I loved him without reason, our young hearts rendered eternal in friendship. I recall, too, that Bertran watched me as closely as his son, and that I liked him as little as I had Barquiel L'Envers.

There are many people I have, in my life time, miscalculated, and more, I daresay, that even my mother misjudged, astute in the ways of human nature, and well versed in the arts of covertcy. I admit freely that I sorely underestimated both Bertran de Trevalion and the uncle of the queen.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

I think, mayhap, that my mother was more meticulous with me in preparation for my four-day encounter with the Shahrizai than she had been while dressing me for the Royal fête. She had commissioned, from Favrielle nó Eglantine, a complete set of winter hunting and riding dress, to the dismay of our esteemed couturiere, though the sets of slim-fitting jackets and calfskin trousers she made certainly disguised my leggy frame, and allowed for freedom of gesture, enhancing my well-balanced athleticism.

My parents rode with me to the Palace, in a carriage, with Hephaestos fastened behind. Father had allowed me to bring my vambraces, and a pair of daggers, which hung low on my hips. Imriel had laughed, when I complained of the many trips of Favrielle's salon. 'Phèdre,' he had remonstrated, 'will you never tire of making Ana your doll? When she is of age, she will be sick to death of your pampering, so that she will choose to go about in rags.'

'Will she indeed, Diogenes?' she replied, and Imriel had blushed. I looked out the window, and watched the buildings and people we passed.

'Ana,' my father's voice drew my attention toward him, 'I do not doubt your comportment, but you must promise us to behave yourself, and allow Imriel to look out for you. We are entrusting the honour of Montrève to you, and you to Imriel, and you must uphold it.'

I nodded. I knew it was a grave trust which they were giving Imri, but it was not the first time he had looked after me. When I was six, he had remained at Montrève with me when mother and father had gone to Verreuil to see my uncle Luc, papa's elder brother. We had gone fishing all day, and he put me up on his saddle horn, telling me stories of Tiberium, and of the siege of Lucca, when he had fought beside Gallus Tadius, come back from the dead.

This, of course, would be very different. Not only would I be riding my own horse, but we would be surrounded by Shahrizai, who bore the gift of Kushiel in their veins, the ability to see the fault-lines in others, to use them, or wait till they could be used. Imriel, I knew, carried also this gift, and betimes used it over me, unthinkingly. But that was different. I loved him, trusted him. He was my brother, and not raised by such a notorious House.

We arrived at the Palace, and found that Imriel was waiting to depart. We would ride to the lodge, but there was a small trap accompanying us, containing a valet for Imriel, and one of Sidonie's own ladies-in-waiting to care for me. However, before we could leave, we were summoned to the Queen's presence. Sidonie sat beside her mother in the throne room, appearing unwontedly cheerful for a woman whose husband was leaving for a weekend with his libertine relatives, even for a d'Angeline. As for Ysandre, there was a crease of worry between her brows, the same that I had seen my mother try so many times in these past two weeks to conceal.

I bowed to her, and she gave me a tight smile. 'You are certain,' Ysandre addressed my parents, 'that you wish to do this?'

'Imriel has his company of guardsmen, and besides, Mavros would himself be put to the sword before allowing harm to befall the Prince.' My mother replied confidently. 'I trust him, even if I do not like him.'

'And I,' Sidonie said, laying her hand upon the Queen's wrist, 'both trust and like him, and I do not think that Anafielle, out of all the children in our family, is one who will be easily swayed by new friends and ideas. They are,' she paused, and thought for a moment, 'our kin. As she is, as Phèdre and Joscelin are. As Imriel is.' Ysandre sent a cool glance in his direction, but said nothing for a moment.

'Well, if that is all. And if you are satisfied that she will come to no harm,' the Queen said, again, to my parents.

'We are satisfied.' My father said, and the Queen nodded.

'Well, you must be underway, then.'

We left the throne room, my father and mother, Imriel, and I, and stopped, in the courtyard, where our horses and small retinue was waiting in readiness for our departure. Mother stooped, and kissed me, and murmured a prayer to Elua for my safety. Father was solemn, as he tightened my belt. 'You promise,' he said, to Imriel, 'that you will have her outside, every morning, practising her forms. Teach her tight circles, make her go through all of them, that she will forget none, and do not allow for her pleading glances. She will drill for three hours, betimes, when it suits her, so do not allow for less than an hour every morning.'

'Of course,' Imriel nodded, and embraced mother. 'Phèdre, you need have no fear. Mavros will see to everything, and Taurus is a temperate child.'

'Indeed,' she said, an oblique expression in her dart-stricken eyes, and when she looked at father, he repressed a laugh.

'Imri, warn poor Mavros' son of her temper.' Papa said, as we mounted up. I rejoiced at the feeling of Hephaestos moving between my legs, the strength and restiveness of him, and repressed the urge to give him his head, and allow him to sprint down the road. Indeed, there was time enough for my horse to weary himself, though the road to the Shahrizai manor was not a long one.

Imriel and I whiled away the time by playing games which he and my mother had invented, games of languages, and of observation. He confounded me, more often than not, for mother had not yet begun to teach me the game of covertcy. She promised me that I should begin to study it when I turned ten, and I wondered how I would study it when I was fostering in the City of Elua. Mayhap Imriel would teach me. He had learnt, well enough, in his youth, though I did not know when he had the occasion to use it.

We arrived at the Shahrizai lodge as luncheon was being served, and I admit, I was glad of the respite. After two weeks out of the saddle, I was ill accustomed to riding, and my legs felt the strain of it. It was a manor house, not overlarge, but convenient for a hunting party, and only half a league from the City. We gave our horses to the grooms that greeted us, and were led directly to the dining hall by an attendant. There were some eight persons sitting and leisure round a table, all but two bearing the unmistakeable stamp of the House Shahrizai.

Lord Mavros stood as we entered, coming forward and throwing his arms round Imriel. 'Ah, you've arrived! I was beginning to worry you'd been waylaid upon the highway. Come, sit, and eat. You know everyone here, do you not?'

Mayhap Imriel was acquainted with them, but I was not. Lord Mavros and Lady Roshana, I knew, but another Shahrizai, a man, was unfamiliar to me, as were all three children, and another woman, who was not born of the House. There was, however, one at the table whom I counted as a friend. 'Gerard!' I exclaimed, catching myself before I abandoned all decorum and rushed forward to embrace him. 'I mean,' I stopped, and bowed, 'my Lord de Mereliot.'

'You know my husband, then?' Lady Roshana smiled indulgently.

'My parents and I took a holiday with Lady Jeanne,' I replied. 'Is the fishing here so abundant as in Marsilikos?' I inquired.

'Indeed,' Gerard de Mereliot smiled back at me, his handsome face lit by genuine delight, 'not in the winter, though in the spring there are trout aplenty. This is my daughter, Oriane,' he motioned to a girl of not more than five, ravishingly lovely, with a plush, peach-blossom complexion and eyes a shade lighter than those of the other Shahrizai.

Lord Mavros introduced me to Baptiste, Lady Roshana's brother, and his wife Vivienne, as well as their children, Narcisse and Maphiste. Narcisse was a coy girl of perhaps fourteen, with a sly, though ready smile, and Maphiste was seven, with merry eyes, and a restive way about him. 'And this,' Lord Mavros said, 'is my son, Taurus.' He was a solemn-eyed boy of twelve, who nodded to me, mutely. I bowed.

'I am Anafielle Verreuil, Vicomtesse de Montrève.'

'She is your cousin,' Imriel said, 'by my fosterage with her parents.' It was a little more formal, than, perhaps, it should have been, but I was nervous, and even with Imriel at my side, there was somewhat that lacked in my security.

'Sit, sit.' Lord Mavros insisted, and I hesitated for a moment, before Narcisse beckoned to me.

'Come, vicomtesse, sit between Taurus and I. We have been positively aching for a new face.' There was somewhat in her smile that was both open and dangerous. I moved forward, forcing myself not to glance backward at Imriel, and sat between the two Shahrizai. An attendant came forward to place a glass and trencher before me, and filled the latter with a portion of sweet hare, and a sort of flour porridge flavoured with a sharp yellow cheese and fresh parsley.

'So, you are our near-cousin, then?' a hesitant voice whispered to me, closer than I thought propriety dictated. I turned to stare into Taurus Shahrizai's midnight-sky eyes, and saw behind them the beginnings of a thousand questions.

'I suppose,' I hesitated, but continued. He did not seem so sharp-eyed and dangerous as the others, but slower, quieter, and, mayhap, softer. 'I do not know you, so I do not know well how to appreciate the shared kinship.'

'Uncle Imriel visits often,' Narcisse said, on my right, reaching over my dish and cutting my meat, as one does for a very young child. 'Did you know that my father fostered at your county for a summer?'

'Yes. I met Lord Mavros and Lady Roshana at the Palace some time ago.'

Taurus grinned suddenly, his smile a slash of white between red lips. 'Lord Mavros, she says. Aye, but she is no cousin of ours, Narcisse.'

'We shall teach her to be.' The girl said, to him, though it was me she looked at. 'We are near-kin, be it by fosterage or by blood, it matters little. But vicomtesse, you simply _must_ allow me a little freedom with your beautiful hair! It is such a shame to have it so tightly braided all the time, and not allowed to tumble round your pretty face.'

I was much astonished by her words. Never had I been, yet, described as 'pretty.' We are d'Angeline, and if we are all beautiful, we are still more conscious of the absence of beauty. I was well accustomed to the suppressed comments, and polite murmurs of 'lovely enough,' and, 'so like her father,' but for so striking a girl as Narcisse Shahrizai, and, indeed, striking she was, to declare me so offhandedly to be pretty was a singularity indeed. 'Uncle Imriel says you sit a horse very well,' Taurus nudged me with his shoulder, 'can you sit one through a hunt? I admit, I could not, at your age.'

'I am nine,' I protested, 'and shall be ten in the spring.'

'Yes, well,' he shrugged, 'it is still a fair thing to say that you are well capable of riding a hunt.' He paused, and touched my elbow, under the table. 'It was a compliment, you know.'

I felt my cheeks redden. 'Oh,' I said, rather foolishly, and Taurus' smile deepened.

'Well, aren't you rather meant to say, "thank you?"' he sipped from his cup, and it seemed to me that he was looking beyond, rather than at me. I nodded curtly.

'Thank you.'

'Oh, Taurus, you mustn't!' Narcisse cooed, 'She is really so charming and fresh.' I had heard that precise combination of words before, and what it really meant was, 'ah, the sweet provincial.' I do not know why, but I liked Taurus a little more because of it, and because of his next words.

'She isn't stupid, Narcisse.' He rolled his eyes. 'She obviously knows enough of life to ignore me.'

'But I wasn't ignoring you.' I insisted. 'I simply―' I thought, and chose my words. '―I am not at all good at this. You are right, Lady Narcisse, I am provincial, and simple.'

Narcisse and Taurus' combined laughter caused the adults, momentarily, to glance at us. Imriel caught my eye, one brow raised in inquiry, and I lifted my chin. 'Not quite provincial enough to miss the faults in my cousin's phrase, eh?' Taurus elbowed me again, and I found the gesture companionable. 'So, Montrève,' his smile took on that reckless quality I had observed in his father, 'tell us what else they teach you in Siovale.'

'Not much,' I joked. 'We ride horses and shoot deer.'

'Ah, of course.' Narcisse cast a cautious look at her mother, a green-eyed brunette, who was flirting shamelessly with Imriel. 'But you shall be a fair hand, I think.' She did not say what it was she supposed I had a talent for, but the mystery was not long in resolving itself.

After luncheon, Oriane and Maphiste were put to bed for an afternoon rest, and Narcisse, Taurus, and I were permitted to sit at the fire with the adults, so long as we entertained ourselves while their parents and Imriel spoke. Narcisse produced a deck of cards, and suggested we play a game out of Kusheth, called borders and banquets. It was played on a singular deck, fashioned specifically for it, in which no card was higher than another, but with which particular combinations, played one after the other, might conspire to beat another. It was a complex game, one which I had little natural talent for, as it was based upon the premise that all its players bear the gift of Kushiel in their veins, and could read the fault-lines in their opponents, thus discerning patterns of behaviour. Very soon, I found that, while I tired of the game itself, I found endless fascination in observing how Narcisse and Taurus confounded one another by turns.

I saw almost immediately that what I had taken in Taurus for solemnity was really an unhurried thoughtfulness, and what I had seen as slyness in Narcisse hid a razor keen wit. She was a shade more decisive, perhaps, than her cousin, but he was more patient, and had learnt better to conceal his intentions. It was noticed, first, by Lady Roshana, that I had dropped out of the game, yet was still observing the remaining players. She tapped her brother, and motioned toward me, with a smile that was very much like that of a cat looking down into a pool of fish. I saw them, out of the corner of my eye, whispering to one another, and laughing occasionally in dulcet tones. I gave no indication that I saw them speaking about me, and essayed to appear absorbed in my contemplation of the game.

Truly, it was not so difficult an attitude to represent, for both Narcisse and Taurus were fascinating to observe, the hands they played, and the way they challenged one another. It was a study in beauty and control, with both of them physically at their leisure, and mentally poised to strike. Betimes, I felt as though the cards were immaterial, but that they might easily have played this game under the guise of a casual conversation. I believe I am not mistaken in believing that the Kushelines are a canny, and, yes, a dangerous people, though they do, unfortunately, tend to underestimate danger, for the simple fact that they are taught so early to encounter it. They do not, however, treat it as the Camaelines do, with a drawn sword and a wary stance―rather, they smile and extend the hand of friendship. It was this peculiar trait that distinguished Melisande Shahrizai's treatment of the Skaldic warlord, Waldemar Selig, and also, the stoic Black Shields of Camael―the Unforgiven, few of whom are still alive, patrolling the Skaldic border.

These, I knew somewhat of, for we had, the previous summer, gone to Camlach, my parents and I, with a company of Montrève guards, and we had come across a company of Black Shields. There were only five of them, men of my father's age; grim, hard men, who bowed to my mother and put themselves immediately at her disposal. I do not well recall their faces, but they seemed, each one, so like the other, but I well remember their expressions. They were tired―no―weary. It was in every line of their bodies, in the way they held their heads. They were proud, very proud, but weary with it.

It was raining outside, so that any thought of riding over the grounds was impractical, a bath had been drawn for me, and I found myself steeped, as it were, to the neck in hot, scented water, as Sidonie's maid worked her fingers through my hair, sloughing away the dust of the road.

As the evening wore on, the rain outside quickly whipped itself into a violent storm, which seethed angrily outside the manor house. If it had been a storm outside the Castle Montrève, I should have slept the better for the wailing wind and crashing thunder, but I was in a strange room, amongst strangers. Kin to Imriel, yes, and his presence made theirs easier to bear, but it could not give me the sense of familiar safety that I lacked. I wanted nothing so much as to walk down the hall to Papa, to climb into his bed and his arms, to hear my mother's drowsy whisper before she fell back to sleep. Even Ti-Philippe and Hugues would have sufficed, but they were not present, either.

I rose from my bed, reaching for my belt, which hung upon one of the head posts, and withdrew a dagger, finding a flint and taper, and striking the flint against the steel of my dagger. A spark leapt between them, catching the wick of the taper, and turning rapidly into a small flame. Indeed, the lightning outside was so bright that I scarcely required the candle, but the process of performing so mundane an act was soothing to me. Taper in hand, I located a warm dressing gown and my slippers, and opened my door, peering out into the hall and feeling very small in the face of its shadowy gloom.

I swallowed my fear, reasoning to myself that this was no monster's lair. This was the house of my kin, had once been a haven for Imriel, when his forbidden affair with Sidonie had come to light, so many years ago. I conjured up the image of Gerard de Mereliot, handsome and smiling, how he had fished with me in Marsilikos, how he seemed unaware, sometimes, of everything save his sharply beautiful wife.

I stepped out into the corridor, holding the taper before me, squinting into the darkness, approaching the staircase which I knew would lead down to the deserted common areas of the manor. There came a soft creaking behind me, and I leapt round, poised, either to fight or fly, watching, transfixed, as one of the doors swung slowly open.

'Why, Montrève,' a newly familiar voice murmured, 'what are you doing out of bed?'

'Lord Taurus,' I sketched a brief bow, which made him grin. 'I can't sleep.'

'None of this "lord" business, Montrève, you are kin.' He came forward, and took my hand. 'You made a dreadful lot of noise, moving about in your room, and then clodding round out here. We'll be lucky if Maphiste doesn't wake, and come running to see what we're up to. Little scamp.'

'We're not "up to" anything.' I narrowed my eyes, but he tugged on my hand.

'Of course we are. We are always up to something.' His confident statement, considering I had only met him that afternoon, perplexed me. 'Come along.' I followed him. How not? He was some three years my superior, and seemed infinitely more at his ease, and besides, I could not sleep. He led me back, away from the stairs, treading softly, but with a stride so quick the taper nearly blew out twice. Down a few hall twists, and into a pair of double, arched doors, and it was a moment before I realised he had taken me into a library. 'You like books?' he inquired, and I nodded.

'Betimes.'

'Good. Come.' He brought me forward a little, and shoved me onto a settee covered in cushions. It was not an urgent push, but it was imperative, with a command I would never have expected in a child. Now, I know that is only his way, to place people at odds with his masterful confidence and to observe their reaction. He went toward a shelf, and selected a book. It was well-thumbed, an anthology of Hellenic myths set to verse, the sort of thing one would expect should entertain a young noble.

'What are you doing?' I inquired, as he settled down beside me.

'Are you warm?' he said, ignoring the question.

'Yes.'

'Good. You may rest your head on my shoulder, if you like.'

'Why? What are you doing?' I demanded again.

'I,' he sighed, with the air of one explaining the state of affairs to a simpleton, 'am putting you to sleep.'

'By reading?'

'Yes,' his tone grew mildly indignant. 'Do not your parents read to you when you are restless at night, or during storms?'

'Well, betimes. Usually, they will tell me stories. It is only Charles Friote who will read. Everyone else has their own stories.'

'I am not old enough,' Taurus fixed me with an impatient look, 'to have any good stories yet, so I shall read you those of other men.'

'Very well.' I settled closer, under the arm he had flung over the back o the settee, and he opened the book. It was illuminated beautifully, with colourful wood block prints, depicting scenes from the myths. Clearing his throat, Taurus began to read the tale of the arrogant King Minos, and of his wife, cursed Queen Pasiphaë, who had sinned with a bull, and produced the flesh-hungry, monstrous Minotaur, which was slain by the Hellene hero, Theseus. I recalled, vaguely, other legends attached to it, those of the Flight of Icaros, and the marriage of Theseus to Phèdre, after whom my mother was named. The lull of his voice drew me into the tale, filling my mind with images, weighting my eyelids down. The even beating of his heart beneath my ear, and the rise and fall of his breathing drew me away from my awareness of the storm raging outside, and I was grateful that he had given me permission to lay my head upon him, for very soon, I had sunk down and sleep claimed me.

I woke on my own, and all at once, my habitual morning forms the first order of the day. Taurus was sleeping beside me on the settee, his hair unbound, but seeming, for all the world, as though he had not spent the night in the library. The book of myths lay open on his lap, and I did not wake him as I returned to my room. I changed quickly out of my night dress, and into a set of soft grey green trousers, a white shirt, and, over this, an undyed woollen jacket. Buckling on my daggers and vambraces, I headed down the stairs. I found Imriel in the common room, standing before a roaring fire, with Lord Mavros. As I came into view, they smiled.

'Ah, you are just in time.' Imri extended a hand. 'I was about to start forms without you. Are you sparring yet?'

'No, but father says it will come soon. I last learnt the final quarter-phase of the _répas du heron_. Will you do it over with me? I am not so clear on the last lunge, and the snap after it.'

'Yes, of course. Come.' He led me out into a freezing courtyard, where we bowed our heads and spoke the brief prayer to Cassiel. Turning, at last, to stand side-by-side, we flowed instinctively into the forms.

Practise with Imriel was different from with my father. His circles were tighter, more self-protecting. Father had never taught him to protect a ward, only himself. I thought, mayhap, that Imriel would be faster, but he was only marginally so, and only with his left arm. We drilled for perhaps two hours, a long practise, even for a master, and by the time we had finished, our hosts were watching us, except Oriane de Mereliot, who was, I think, too young to take interest in anything beside dolls and frocks. I felt a little awkward, as though I were on display, for them to judge, to observe, to analyse. However, when Taurus handed me a towel to wipe away my sweat, I could see a sort of respect in his eyes that had not been present the previous day, and certainly not when we played at borders and banquets, as I had not precisely been a worthy opponent.

'My father,' he said, as he led me to the dining hall, 'told me you were dangerous, in your own way, and not as we are. I think, mayhap, that you will be very impressive someday.'

'Someday? Am I not impressive now?'

'No, you cannot possibly be. Not until you have grown into yourself much more.' He was very forthright, more so than Laurient, and though the words he spoke might have been offensive, their intent was only truth. In this, he was different from Narcisse, who fawned and exclaimed over my hair and eyes, and of whom, by luncheon, I was thoroughly sick. She had attempted to dress me in three different frocks, had brushed my hair twice, had threatened me with kohl and carmine, and had succeeded in forcing my feet into a pair of silken slippers the colour of dead leaves.

'They are tea,' she insisted, while I rolled my eyes and though she must be daft. Tea was a hot drink served with honey, and betimes milk. Tea was not a pair of slippers, and if they were, I had no further interest in tea. Lady Vivienne was scarcely better, and Lady Roshana did not aid matters by suggesting they teach me a little about embroidery. This was, of course, not an improvement, but I could at least feel secure in the knowledge that neither my hair nor wardrobe would be altered during an embroidery class.

When I extracted myself from the clutches of the Shahrizai women, I found Imriel and Lord Mavros poring over maps, discussing the hunt, which was to take place on the morrow. There had been foxes sighted, and deer, as well, but there were still two or three bears that had not gone into hibernation, which they desired to stay well clear of. 'So, little Montrève,' I noted, with amusement, how both Lord Mavros and his son addressed me by my county, 'how fair a hand are you with a bow?'

'Fair enough, Lord Mavros, though my strength, mayhap, will never equal that of a true yeoman.'

'Well enough, for I saw how you handle your dagger. I take it that Montrève is still fair grounds for rabbits and foxes?'

'And wolves, my Lord.' I nodded. 'This summer past, I helped my father and our men-at-arms chase down a pack that was preying upon our sheep.'

'And your mother approved?' Imriel inquired sceptically, and I blushed.

'Charles Friote took me riding, rather conveniently, while the wolves were being herded.'

'Did he?' Lord Mavros nudged Imriel. 'I wonder how Lady Phèdre would have taken that?'

'She was never informed,' I avoided Imriel's eyes, 'but I think she could tell, when father mounted a wolf's head on a plaque and engraved my name beneath it.' I managed a guilty smile. 'But that was nearly two weeks after the hunt, so she could not have been certain till then.'

'I think I recall,' Imriel paused in thought, 'Charles was sent to the townhouse in the City of Elua for a month, and I wondered why.'

'Yes, well.' I lifted my shoulders. 'I was not harmed in the hunt, and I know how close one may push a horse to a wolf before it shies.'

'A valuable lesson, and worth Lady Phèdre's wrath.' Lord Mavros said, philosophically, though it was irony that lay at the heart of his words. 'Taurus tells me that you have no stomach for storms.'

'It was not the storm, my lord,' I replied, 'but rather my unfamiliarity with my room that caused me to rise last night.'

'If there is any way I may make your stay more comfortable, you have only to speak it.'

'I think my lord's son well afforded me every mark of comfort when he offered to read to me.'

Lord Mavros smiled, but gently, with the sort of ineffable pride a man feels when he hears his son praised. 'He is soft-hearted, that one.'

'Like you, eh?' Imriel spread a hand over Lord Mavros' shoulder.

'No, indeed. You know better, Imri.' They looked at each other for a moment, then back at me. 'Are you finding your time here to your liking, little Montrève?'

'So far. I wish, however, that Narcisse did not think I was a girl.'

'Oh, are you otherwise?'

'No. I am, only, she seeks to dress me in new frocks, and tie up my hair, and make me embroider. My mother does not embroider, and neither does my papa, so why might I need to?'

'I suppose there is no need,' Imriel smiled, 'but Sidonie embroiders, you know, and it is likely she will wish you to, as well. Then you shall have a mother who does needlework, and you shall have no excuse against it.'

'Oh, I think I shall find better things to do in the Palace, and better ways, besides, to court Sidonie's favour.' I believe my smile was somewhat impish, for Imriel turned upon me with narrowed eyes.

'And, indeed, what shall you do to court her favour?'

'What you did, Imri.' I replied jauntily. 'Whatever it was.' Both he and Lord Mavros burst into laughter. 'Well, are you not going to share your secret with me?'

'Ah, little Montrève,' Lord Mavros reached toward me, petting me as he might a favoured cat, 'what our Imriel did to court Sidonie's favour is not a thing for children. Mayhap when you are older?'

I pouted, but did not shake off his hand. 'Well, then, gentlemen,' I said, with a moue of determination, 'I shall hold you to your word, and make inquiries to you when, as you say, I am older.'

Here, Narcisse peeked round the corner. 'Oh, vicomtesse, I thought I might find you here. Always seeking to mingle with the men! Uncle Imriel, uncle Mavros,' she dipped into a fine curtsey. 'Well, you will be glad of it, Taurus has sent me to find you. He wishes to try his hand against you in a game of_ mille_.' I turned a longsuffering smile toward her.

'As you wish, dear Narcisse. Or, rather, as Taurus wishes.' I sent a wry look back at Imriel, and said, in Jebean, 'If she kills me with her needlework classes, have papa avenge me.'

'I shall see that he takes your message,' he replied, in d'Angeline, smiling as Narcisse dragged me down the corridor.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Nothing but some characters and the story itself belongs to me, but I suppose Jacqueline can have it if she likes.

AN: This is going to be the last update for a while—probably a couple of months, but never fear! I will be back. So! R&(please)R.

SEVEN

Taurus came to my room uninvited that night, with another book, this time an anthology of Menekhetan folk tales. My maid eyed him with restrained disapproval, but said nothing as she left. 'I believe,' I said, as I slipped beneath the bed-clothes, 'that I shall have no trouble in getting to sleep tonight.'

'It signifies little,' he replied, with an inscrutable confidence, very brazenly, I thought, for someone who encroaches upon another's private space, 'but you are only here for another two days, and I should like, very much, to indulge a little in your company.' I studied him, wishing the gift of Kushiel flowed in my veins, so that I might deduce his reasons for so pursuing my friendship, and in so obstinate a manner. He seemed to understand this, and smiled, his open, free expression the more beautiful for its frankness. 'I do not know,' he continued, coming forward and sitting at the foot of my bed, 'by what power I am constrained toward you, only that I am. It is as though I knew, always, that you and I should go along in life together. When my father mentioned your name to me, a light came on inside me, and it was all I could do not to ask him a million questions about you.' My brow knit, and I drew away a little, even as a pit of strange yearning opened before me, and I felt my heart opening, inexplicably, toward him.

'Why, how do you mean?' I stammered.

'I think,' he opened the book, and began rifling through the pages, 'that we are somehow fashioned alike, and were meant to be somewhat to one another. There are things in you that…' he struggled for a word, '…complete things in me, and our faults and strengths align. I do not know. Mayhap, when we are older, we shall be lovers. Or we shall fight together against a common enemy, or somewhat.'

'Does Kushiel's gift extend to divination?' I smiled slyly. 'I was given to believe, in my lessons, that has always been the province of Azza.'

'You are right, but this has less to do with divination, and more with the perception of common faults and common strengths.' He seemed to discover the page he was seeking, and sighed. 'Ah, here is a tale, linked with that of the Yeshuites, about how the Habiru rebel Moishe called down ten plagues upon the Pharaoh of Menekhet.'

'You do not explain much to me,' I crossed my arms and looked to see whether he was watching me, or impatiently scanning the pages of the book. His eyes were fixed upon me, solemn and steady.

'I do not understand it well, myself. But I am certain.' He was, and I think some of his certainty was effaced onto me. I moved aside on the bed, and shifted a pillow to better accommodate him.

'Well, and so, if you are going to read, I wish to see the prints.' He nodded, and, kicking off his boots, he slunk up beside me, sliding beneath the duvet, and accepting me as I curled round him.

I still do not understand what possessed a twelve-year-old scion of the Shahrizai to extend himself so frankly and vulnerably toward me. Mayhap he saw in me the fault that accepted only honesty, or, at least, responded best to it. Or mayhap there was somewhat more in it, more reason, more craft. Whatever the purpose, it was effective, and I have rarely questioned the movement of my heart, where he has been concerned. He is Taurus, and I, Anafielle, and that has been enough for me.

He did not fall asleep, rather, when he felt he had read enough, he closed the book and, taking my only candle with him, left down the hall. I slept very soundly that night, and when I woke, and emerged from my bed, it was in time to see Imriel emerging from his room, lingering in the doorway, a flush on his pale cheeks. I came toward him, still buckling a vambrace, and saw that there was someone standing behind him. As I drew forward, I saw that it was Lord Mavros, only just fastening the end of one of his many braids with a waxed string.

'Good morning, little Montrève,' he grinned, and it took an effort for me not to narrow my eyes at him. It was not that he had obviously spent the night with Imriel, for he was unclad save for a sheet wrapped round his waist, but rather that he appeared completely nonchalant, while Imri blushed up to the whites of his eyes and was about stammering some incomprehensible words when I bowed fluidly, and met Lord Mavros' eyes squarely.

'Good morning, Lord Mavros. I trust you slept well?'

'As well as can be expected on so quiet a night. Indeed, betimes a good storm is required for me to settle, do you not find it so?'

'I find that a vigorous exercise in the morning quiets me well, sir.' I grinned cheekily, and nudged Imriel's ribs with an elbow. 'I shall meet you in the courtyard, Imri.'

'And I,' Lord Mavros smiled, backing into the room with a lounging, sensual smile on his lips, 'shall dress for breakfast, and give orders as to the hunt.'

I did not request Imriel to teach me any new forms that morning, as he seemed rather awkward that I should have discovered him with Lord Mavros. He did not, at first, speak to me of it, as we slid through all the preliminary, warming movements, which circulated the blood and caused the limbs to increase in flexibility, but when we paused to drink a sip of cool water, he turned a stern eye upon me. 'We are d'Angeline,' he said, peremptorily, and was about to continue, when I held up a hand.

'Imri, our maman is a Servant of Naamah. And I am only nine years old. I do not need to have this explained to me. I expect that Sidonie is aware, and now I am. That is enough. I trust you. And you do not brood with Lord Mavros, as betimes you do in the Palace. It is all within the precepts of Blessed Elua, for all of us.' I do not believe he expected me so clearly to understand, but if my mother had taught me anything, it was to respect the precepts of Elua beyond those which propriety might dictate. Love was what mattered, and particularly for me, as my life was nothing if not a manifestation of the power of trust in love. I laughed at his bewilderment, and then he seemed to stop a bit, and to think on something.

'I am relieved,' he said quietly, 'that you have been so well educated. I should have given mother credit for this.'

'Well, papa too. He made Cassiel's choice, and flouted the principles of the Brotherhood.' He knelt, for a moment, and looked up into my eyes, a little earnestly, I thought, his hands on my shoulders.

'You have been fortunate, by far more blessed than I, to have been conceived out of love, rather than produced simply for the sake of playing games with the gods.' I recalled, then, that he had been the pawn of his mother and father, and made to fill an absence in their politics, rather than one in their hearts.

'I should have never been made, if you had not been.' I leant forward, and kissed his forehead, with the same reverence I would have given to the image of Elua himself. 'We are sacred, you and I, both made of god-fated things, powerful things. We have been touched by angels, even beside the ichor in our veins.'

He smiled softly, and murmured, 'This, too, is sacred.' There was bemusement in his tone, and when he rose, the blush had gone from his skin and full confidence had returned to his bearing. 'Well, come. Let us have―what was it? The _danse du mâle_?' he grazed my shoulder with his hand, and we set back to our forms as though there had been no intermission.

The hunt which Lord Mavros had planned was nothing like that which Bertran de Trevalion had given. There were no pavilions, no hunting horns, and the attendants who waited upon the hunting party were limited to the houndskeeper, the falconer, and a chirurgeon, in case of accidents. We were not dressed gaudily in raiment designed to impress our peers, rather, each of us was clad in forest colours, browns, blacks, greens, and greys. The horses of the Shahrizai had been well rested, and fed heartily the night previous, but given nothing but water and dried peasecods that morning. It was, pleasantly enough, more like our hunts in Siovale. Lord Mavros, though he held seniority, deferred to Imriel to lead the hunt, and I joyfully into place beside Taurus, with Hephaestos stamping and snorting beneath me. The day was clear, and very cold, and the ground had frozen, making tracks difficult to follow, but the hounds of Kusheth were not to be confounded by so simple a deterrent. They caught a scent not twenty minutes into our foray, and were off, scattering into the forest, and we followed cheerily, our shouts mingling with their sonorous baying, Imriel's bugle sounding a charge.

We found the boar in a thicket, and it burst, red-eyed and bristling in rage, from the brush, smoke seeming to billow from its nostrils, and a paroxysm of fear clutched at me. Hephaestos reared a little, disorienting me, before I managed to shake myself, control the reins, and hone the fear into a needlepoint, goading myself into action.

I seized the sort javelin hanging from my saddle, and aimed it unsteadily, heart thudding in my ears, unable to hold the weapon steady. Finally, after several unending seconds, I cocked my arm back and let it fly. It struck the boar's flank―not so good a shot as I would have liked, but Hephaestos was wheeling madly, screaming, and I was glad to hit the creature at all. Wrestling my horse under control, I struggled to fit an arrow to my short riding bow, watching three more javelins and several arrows striking our quarry as I did so. I caught a glimpse of Narcisse, her eyes blazing, her mouth open in a triumphant smile of fierce exhilaration, and I thought, perhaps, that she was far more beautiful now than when she had been quiet and sedate, embroidering or reading in the parlour.

Distantly, I heard Imriel reprimanding my boldness as I urged Hephaestos closer to the cornered, enraged boar, and let fly two bolts from my bow in rapid succession, one missing entirely, the other burying its head in the boar's mouth, and blood spurted forth, staining the yellow tusks, eliciting a bellow of pain. Lord Baptiste brought his horse round, cutting me off from going nearer, and, with a low snarl, he plunged his long-handled spear into the throat of the boar. Its cries turned from angry to piteously anguished, and it sank, twitching, upon the sward, as I sent another arrow past Lord Baptiste and into its shoulder.

I heard my name shouted again, more imperatively, by Imriel, and turned to acknowledge him. His dark eyes seemed flinty, though a second glance revealed an undercurrent of stark terror. I lifted my head, and turned Hephaestos toward him, catching brief snatches, in the din of the dying animal, of his words. '―careless, bloodyminded stubbornness!―could have been killed!―Joscelin will have my head!' and I felt, suddenly, the urge to laugh, as the needling urgency of the kill evaporated, and I spurred toward him, smiling.

'Imri! Imri! I hit him!'

'I know.' He growled, and I blinked. I had sensed his anger and fear intermingling, and felt the easiest way to deflect it would be to assume an air of ingenuousity.

'Imri, are you not proud of me?'

'Of course,' he sighed impatiently, and seemed suddenly very tired. 'Of course,' he finally smiled, 'You will put Sidonie into her grave, if ever you behave like this round her.'

'It is fortunate, then,' I replied, 'that she is not here.' He shook his head, and spurred forward to dispatch the boar.

Taurus wheeled up beside me, and the same bright fierceness was in his eyes that I had witnessed in Narcisse. 'You were magnificent, Montrève!' he exclaimed. 'So bold! You could have killed a lion!'

'Twas not I who dealt the death blow.'

'Even so! I should never have enterprised so close to a boar.' He shuddered. 'Name of Elua, Montrève, but what they must teach you in Siovale!' I luxuriated beneath his praise, and gave Hephaestos his head, that he might wind down from his recent excitement. There was little enough work for me to do heretofore, as the adults would skin and divide the boar. Taurus followed me a few lengths, and spoke my name. 'Come, I know a stream where your horse would be glad, I think, of some refreshment.' I went after him, and we ambled in personable silence for some time, till we came to the stream of which he had spoken, a half-frozen little affair, and we dismounted, standing for a moment as my heart slowed its beating, and I felt the ferment of uneasy agitation recede from my veins.

'Are all your hunts so brief?' I inquired. 'Betimes, we will chase for hours before our quarry is run down.'

'Boars are a strange quarry. Betimes, they die quickly, as this one did, and betimes, they fight, and gore dogs and horses, for hours before the blood is drained from them. Stags are easier, and foxes, the simplest to kill, and the hardest to chase.'

'It is so,' I nodded. 'I have never hunted boar, though I think I like the danger of it.'

Taurus' brow knit. 'You were brave, and did well. But Uncle Imriel will be right to chastise you, if he will. You are a good rider, and your horse is active, but had the boar charged you, I would not answer for your safety.'

'I would have had little choice, wherever I was.' I lifted my chin, and spoke coolly, but I was not much offended, recalling the smile which Taurus had given while congratulating me.

'Yes, mayhap.' He reflected a moment, then caught his horse's reins up in an offhand gesture that somehow translated into pure elegance. 'But you must not go into danger with no cause beside simply winning.' He laughed. 'Singular advice, mayhap, but I have had occasion to heed it, myself.'

I nodded. 'I do not risk needlessly.'

'It is well. For I should take it as a folly, were you to perish in a hunting accident before you are sixteen.' Tugging his horse round, he swung into the saddle, and I followed suit, heading back toward the scene of the hunt.

It seemed as though we had not been missed, though Lady Roshana and Narcisse were about heading back for the lodge, and invited Taurus and I to accompany them. As I did not wish to remind Imriel of the risk I had taken, as I would have done by wallowing in the blood and meat encountered by skinning the animal, I accepted, though Taurus elected to return and assist the apportioning of the fallen prey.

A blazing fire was lit in the parlour, and cups of perry cider awaited us, as well as hot pastries of honey and apples. I sat eagerly, washing my hands in the petal-strewn fingerbowls provided, and greedily consumed two pastries and a cup of spiced cider, fingers thawing from their half-clutched position, as Narcisse set up a game of chequers before the fire, and invited me to join her.

'I did not think, when we rode out this morning, that you would be much use in a hunt, and when I saw the boar, I thought you would defer.' She said, frankly.

'I am afraid that my initiative shall earn me a reprimand, when Imriel returns.'

'Mayhap, but you still have impressed me favourably.' She reached forward, and pressed my hand, as she took one of my game pieces from the board.

That even, we dined on fresh boar, the meat savoury and vibrant, if a little tough. The animal had been an old one, and that was the reason for its easy death. The cooks had composed, to complement it, a sauce of hazelnuts and sage, with wild mushrooms and wheat-berries. I fear that I rather gorged myself, so that when finally, belly groaning, I pushed myself back from the board. I felt as though I should never feel hungry again.

Not to be outdone in gluttony, the Shahrizai also ate their fill, and we retired, after supper, to the parlour, where Narcisse volunteered to read to us all, and Taurus brought the cards for borders and banquets back out, and proceeded to better educate me in the finer points of gameplay.

Oriane and Maphiste were given leave to stay up a little later than usual, as they had been excluded from the hunt, and I found myself watching them as they half-listened to Narcisse's reading of a canto from a book of narrative poetry. They had caught one of the six cats that had the run of the kitchens and rooms of the manor, and were busily engaged in dressing it in rags from one of Oriane's dolls. It mewled piteously, but did not scratch them at all, and I marvelled at their delicacy―it seemed to me that there had never been more perfectly formed children. Their faces were flushed from the heat of the fire, soft, pink embryonic lips parted in determined absorption over their feline captive, which struggled a little, and finally relented to wearing a pair of cambric boots and a blue chemise.

'Montrève, you are not listening!' Taurus touched my shoulder, not impatiently, but the gesture was imperative. 'Attend. Narcisse will, when confronted by a priest of Kushiel, and the fountain, will feint, with a lily and a priest of Naamah, which you must capture with a devotee of Eisheth and a noose, do you see?'

I returned my attention to him. 'What if I played a lily and a commander of Eisheth?' I pointed out a set I held, and he grinned.

'Oh, you are not so simple as you seem, eh? You know that if I played my noose and devotee, you could gain the border with your lily and commander. I think you will be a good player, if you practise.'

'I am,' I said, smiling, 'a good _anything_ with practise.'

He laughed then, as I expected him to, eyes open, sparkling. 'To be sure, Montrève, to be sure! I told Narcisse you would make us a fitting cousin!'


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Same as before. Own nothing. No profit for meh.

EIGHT

I packed my things very early, before I met Imriel for forms, that I should have time to see Taurus in the library between practise, before breakfast and our departure, which would be that afternoon. I found him on a ladder, running his hands over the spines of historical records. As I entered, he turned his head, and shot a grin at me, sliding down the ladder. 'Where do you live,' I inquired, 'when not here?'

'In the City of Elua, of course.' He replied. 'As you will.'

'You will visit me, in the palace?'

'I shall accompany my father, when he goes. But I think we are going back to Kusheth for the balance of the winter.'

'I shall be in Montrève for the spring, I think, but in the summer, I am to be fostered in the City.'

'Yes, I know. It is a rather while to be apart,' he took my hand, almost absently, 'but I shall write to you. Even if you do not reply, though I believe I should like it very much if you did.'

'I will reply, if I receive letters. I have already promised to correspond with Laurient de Trevalion and Eldora Zornín, and my mother wishes me, also, to write to Queen Ysandre and the dauphine, but that, I do not think I will enjoy.'

'You mustn't forget me, Montrève, amongst the abundance of your friends. Promise me you will not.' He conjured me, by a gentle pressure on my hand, and I recalled how hard his father had held me, when he danced with me.

'How forget?' I smiled, and returned the pressure. 'How ever?' I lifted myself on my toes, for he was a tall boy, outstripping me by nearly a head, and I kissed his cheeks, as I had seen adults do, at parting. His solemnity seemed to lift a little, though he did not return my smile. Very deliberately, he released my hands, and took a single step backward.

'It is well. I think Narcisse would like you to speak well of her to the dauphine. She will début at court when she is fifteen, next year, and seeks to become a lady-in-waiting upon her Majesty.'

'Do you think I should?'

'No, I think she will pester uncle Imriel into it.' His lips twisted, finally, into an expression of amusement at his cousin's efforts to surge up the social ladder.

'And you? When you are old enough, will you seek a place at court?'

He shook his head. 'I will travel, if father permits. I wish to study in Menekhet, at the University of Iskandria. They are regaining their name as a capital in education, did you know? I think I shall pursue a politic career, and become a diplomat to far-off lands.' He compressed his lips. 'I will not remain here all my life. I love Terre d'Ange, but my love for her cannot be pure if I know I have never seen aught other. If I should ever find a dearer land, I shall remain there.' His eyes softened, and glinted with somewhat which I was not yet old enough to understand. Then, shaking himself, he pressed his lips to my forehead, and led me out of the library and into the parlour.

Oriane and Maphiste were playing again before the fire, Oriane with dolls and a tea service, and Maphiste with wooden soldiers. Lady Vivienne and Narcisse were sitting round, working on their dreaded embroidery. Lord Baptiste was sitting on the floor, his head leant back on Lady Roshana's lap, and she was braiding his hair. Taurus shuddered beside me.

'It takes so much time,' he tugged on a handful of his own braids. 'And Narcisse is not so gentle as aunt Roshana.' Pushing past me, he sat down on the divan beside Lady Roshana, without touching her, and beckoned to me as I stood hesitantly in the doorway. 'Come, you must learn how, so you can do mine when I visit you.'

I came forward, a little timidly, and Lady Roshana looked up, smiled as her eyes caught mine. 'Come, victomtesse,' she murmured, in a singularly matronly voice. 'Taurus wishes you to learn. And if you are to be kin to the Shahrizai, you must at least observe.' She carried on braiding Lord Baptiste's hair with smooth, efficient fingers. 'I have this lesson to Imriel, once, during our summer in Montrève. I was fifteen, and Mavros was just seventeen. Strange, to think on it. We were such children.' Her smile softened, and she twisted a waxed string at the end of a completed braid, gathering another portion of hair to start a new one.

'It is a lesson of patience,' Lord Baptiste said, his eyes opening halfway, catching lazily on mine before returning to the fire, to smile on his son, who was jousting two wooden figures against one another. 'For me, I think, the study is easier. My work is only to submit to Roshana, to be groomed, while hers is to submit to work, to grooming me, even should her hands cramp, or her concentration flag. But I think, Anafielle Verreuil,' he lingered on my name, 'that you have strong enough hands.' I said nothing to this. Each of the Shahrizai had different ways of addressing me, with Narcisse and Lady Roshana both addressing me as 'vicomtesse,' while Lord Mavros and Taurus used 'Montrève,' Oriane and Maphiste favouring 'Ana.' I had spent the least time with Lord Baptiste, though he had expressed a few sentiments concerning Montrève and my parents that I found fair, if a little tainted by the nostalgia of childhood. I liked him, too, mayhap not so much as I liked Lord Mavros, who was irreverent and jocular, but there was, in Lord Baptiste a sensitivity, paired with languid sensuality, which I found soothing.

'I can braid my own hair,' I said, absently, and Taurus grinned sidelong at me, elbowing me in the ribs.

'I shall have you start there, then, Montrève.'

'You shall not "have me" do anything.' I replied, in mock indignation. 'I shall do for you as I choose.'

'I might make you choose.' He teased gently, eliciting a snorting laugh from Lord Baptiste. Lady Roshana clucked her tongue at his movement, but he only opened one eye and bent it sternly on Taurus.

'Shahrizai or not, boy, you shan't make any child of Verreuil do anything it doesn't wish to. Bloody stubborn, these Siovale stock.' For some reason, his comment, rather than cowing Taurus, only made his confidence blaze higher.

'Because you could do nothing with them, uncle, that is no reason to assume that I may not.'

'Do you mean to say,' I glared at him, 'that you shall attempt to shape me to your will?'

'Oh, no, Montrève, never that. Only, know that I might, if so inclined.'

'It's just as well, Verreuil,' Lord Baptiste sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing again into half-sleep beneath his sister's hands, 'that he underestimates you. Take care not to knock him down too hard.'

I do not doubt that Taurus would have had somewhat more to say had not his father and Imriel appeared in the doorway, and our attendants besides, carrying our luggage. 'Shall we break our fasts,' Lord Mavros said, 'and send our guests back to the City with their bellies full of the excellent boar we hunted?'

We repaired, again, and for a final time, to the dining hall, where I wondered at how the place could have become familiar to me so easily, and, also, how Taurus Shahrizai had so boneheadedly inserted himself into my heart. Whatever the reasons, it was finished, now. If I had believed I should leave the Shahrizai lodge without becoming part of their family, when that was precisely the object of their invitation to me, I would have been mistaken.

I say that it was their design to bring me close, and, I think, even if I were not to be fostered in the palace, they would have behaved in the same fashion. I daresay they might themselves have offered to my parents for fosterage, though I cannot speak for the answer they would have received. Their efforts to court me were calculated, yes, but for that they were not the less genuine. The Shahrizai had conceived a fair respect for my mother and father, and they loved Imriel. Lord Mavros, at least, loved him deeply.

We broke our fast slowly, for neither Imriel nor I were eager to depart, and the Shahrizai did not rejoice to see us go. When, however, we did, we did not leave empty handed. Imriel was given the tusks of the boar we had felled, and Narcisse presented me with a fine cambric handkerchief, embroidered with my initials, and the intertwined keys of her House. Taurus made me a gift of pens, which, I think, he had made himself of crow's feathers, and Lady Roshana gave me a string of pearls, from Marsilikos, to pass on to my mother, with her blessing.

Thus laden, we returned to the City of Elua.

Though we rode, at first, in companionable silence, Imriel soon broke it, speaking Cruithne, for which he had a remarkable facility. 'So, Ana, how did you find my cousins?'

'As interesting as everyone seems to think,' I replied, 'and at least as singular.

'Taurus rather insisted upon himself with you, did he not?'

'Yes, but it was not unpleasant to be sought after.'

He laughed. 'Ah, Ana, you will be tired enough of being sought after once the summer is through.'

'Not tired of Taurus, though.' I compressed my lips.

'I was afraid he would be a little more incendiary.'

'However do you mean?' I did not see how Taurus was at all incendiary. Rather, he was steady going, and predictable enough, once one learnt the trick of him.

'Well, if is curious,' Imriel chewed his lips, 'but he was present when Mavros invited me on this hunting party, and I mentioned that you, and mother and father, would be in the City of Elua. Mind, this was before you arrived, but Taurus rather pounced on his father, and had him repeat your name over to him, twice, and slowly, and it was he that suggested you come along with me, to keep him and Narcisse company.' I thought of how easily Taurus had made his mind up about me, how he had been waiting by his door that first night, when the storm had come in. I affected nonchalance, but Imriel seemed to confirm the peculiar attachment Taurus appeared to have taken to me, and my heart lightened for it. It had, indeed, occurred to me over the past few days, that his affection might have been wholly or partially a fabrication. However, even before he had known of my fosterage, he seemed, truly, to have evinced a singular interest, and this was satisfying to my rapidly burgeoning ego.

The weather was a little bleak, as it had been the day previous, and though the sky was clear, there was a crisp sharpness in the air, which speaks of blood-freezing cold and no snow, which always fouled my mood. Imriel attempted to distract me with a song and the purchase of a brightly-patterned wrist-band from a band of Tsingani we met upon the road, but I remained in low spirits till the City was in view. Then, seeing an opportunity of distracting me, Imriel suggested we race to the gates.

'To the gates?' I squinted in their direction, where they stood, some three furlongs distant. He nodded. 'And what shall we name as a forfeit to the loser?'

'Ah,' Imriel's eyes turned canny. 'Have you learnt to wager from my nephew, then?' I replied with only a smile. 'It is just as well. What will you have of me?'

I reflected for a moment, thinking of what Imriel presently possessed, and what he might, in the future. 'The freedom,' I said, 'of a day, whichever I choose, for whatever I choose, once I am fostered with your wife.'

He nodded, and wound the reins of his horse, a speckled five-year-old of Aragonian stock, round his left hand. 'And I,' he said, 'I shall claim the same. A day of servitude from you, whenever I please, for whatever I please.' Images of dreadful fêtes and audiences with personages like Barquiel L'Envers flashed through my mind, but I had no intention of renouncing my own claim, and I held out my arm. He reached forward, and we clasped one another's wrists. 'Will you signal?' he said to one of the attendants, as I brought Hephaestos up alongside his prancing speckled horse. The young man raised his arm, and I contracted myself in the saddle, angling my feet downward into the stirrups that they might not slip loose, and when he lowered his arm suddenly, I clapped spurs to Hephaestos' haunches.

He bolted beneath me, his strides devouring the ground, sending up dust in thick clouds all round me, and I leant close in to his neck, whispering encouragement into his ear, my legs clenching in the effort to keep myself seated. He was a powerful horse, but the sire of Imriel's mount had been an exquisite Aragonian horse, by the name of Hierax, affectionately nicknamed 'the Bastard.' The Bastard was now some fourteen years old, but he was still a prize of horseflesh, and his filly had been thrown true, and Hephaestos was still a gelding.

We were neck and neck before I could intake breath, matching stride for stride, and though I could not see much for the dust that was kicked up all round us, I knew that I should have to ride harder than ever I had to beat Imriel at this. I gave Hephaestos his head, and he stretched beneath me, strides lengthening, the thunder of his hooves sending a trembling fire up into my gut. Our breath seemed to synchronise, as I raised myself in the stirrups, throwing my weight forward, leaning on his shoulders, and it seemed to me that if we went any faster, we might leave the ground and take to the air.

In the dust and confusion of the horse's breathing, a tense coil of exhilaration in my gut seemed to spread outward, diffusing, and I tightened my fingers, seeking to draw myself together, to compact myself. I was lighter by some hundred pounds than Imriel, and he carried, besides, a sword of forty pounds, where I had nothing but a pair of daggers. Still, he was an excellent horseman, with many years over my experience, and as we came upon the gates of the City, he forced a final effort from his horse, and passed just a half-length before me.

I drew Hephaestos up, my eyes blinking dust from them, and smiled at the bewildered expressions on the faces of the city guard. It is true that I was disappointed, but the excitement of the race had driven from me the thought of Taurus, and the knowledge that I should not see him again until summer, and then, that I should be firmly ensconced in any duties to the palace, and to Sidonie, that were entailed in my fostering. To my credit, I did not sulk much upon returning to the palace, and Imriel was a jovial companion. He was in very high spirits, for he had missed Sidonie a great deal, I think, and it would be some time before he could be constrained again to part from her.

As we rode through the City, we were greeted with shouts of 'Prince Imriel!'―and―'your Majesty!' Imri nodded and waved, and I wondered how soon the people would learn to recognise me. They knew my mother and father, for they were heroes like those in books and legends, but I?―I was no more than a country vicomtesse. I knew, of course, that it was too much to ask for this to remain so, but still, there was somewhat in me that wondered what it would feel like to be recognised, to have people call my name in the street, and to hail me welcome when I entered the City.

Upon our entry to the palace, we were informed that the queen and dauphine were not present, and that Lord Barquiel L'Envers was closeted with my mother. Imriel inquired after Sidonie's whereabouts, and was informed that she and her mother were at the house of a courtier, having been invited for luncheon. He took himself away with no undue haste, remanding me to the governance of a butler. I did not begrudge him his impetuosity, and requested to be brought to my mother.

I was led, and left, before a hermetically sealed door, behind which I knew was a private study, of which I had vague recollections of my mother and Gilles Lamiz, the poet laureate of Terre d'Ange, discussing the translation of a canto from Caerdicci. I waited for the steps of the butler to fade before I pressed my ear against the door, and heard the vague rush of voices behind. They were too low, and the door too thick, for me to distinguish the words, however, and I knocked, with my face still against the cool, dark wood. The voices fell instantly silent, I stepped back hastily. There was no reply forthcoming, and neither did the door open. I knocked again. This time, it was shoved ajar with a force, and Barquiel L'Envers' narrowed, fierce eyes scanned the corridor, lowering and catching on me when he saw no one at his eye level.

'Good day, my lord.' I said cheerfully, despite a distinct quailing in my gut, and bowed as fluidly as I dared. He stepped back, though not enough for me to enter, and cast a glance over his shoulder.

'Your offspring, comtesse, appears unaffected by the foray into the serpent's lair.'

'Anafielle?' I heard my mother's voice, and stepped forward, nearly touching L'Envers, expecting him to step aside. He did no such thing. My mother sighed, with a faint chuckle of amusement colouring her following words. 'Lord Barquiel, if you please, allow my daughter to embrace me.'

He studied me for a moment, and it was with an effort that I recalled that he had a daughter, that Yseulte de'l Khalifate was his granddaughter. I looked straight up into his hard eyes, and smiled, as I might have smiled in greeting to my own father. 'My lord, if you please.' I echoed my mother's words, though I knew that papa should have known my sweet tones for the farce that they were. Lord Barquiel's lips compressed, and I knew I need not fear him, even if I did not like him. He inclined his head by a fraction, and stepped aside, that I might pass, though he did not, it is true, open the door very much wider.

I slipped inside, and inhaled. Even four paces from my mother, her scent of attar of roses and clean silk soothed me. She was resplendent as a goddess, sitting at her leisure, spread across a chaise, wearing a caul over her hair of thread of gold and seed pearls and a gown of yellow chiffon, gathered beneath the bust in a Hellene style. She was impossibly beautiful, my mother, and her dark eyes caught the light in her joy, when she smiled at me, and opened her arms.

'Maman!' I dashed forward, dispossessing any illusions Lord Barquiel might have held concerning my self-possession, burying my face in her neck as her arms came round me. It was sweet to have her holding me, to enjoy the firmness of her hands pressing my back, her soft lips, still plump and smooth, caressing my forehead. I kissed her mouth firmly, adoring her with my eyes.

'Ah, Anafiel, you are become neither wilder nor softer for your time with the Shahrizai.' She smelled my hair, a thing she did throughout our life together. 'You have come back bright eyed and healthy, with a glow in your cheeks that Montrève has been hard-pressed to inspire as of late. I am pleased.'

'I missed you, maman.'

'I missed you, my love.' She repulsed me with a gentle hand against my chest, and arranged me at her side, smoothing her skirts and turning her attention back to the other present party. 'Lord Barquiel, I am sure you will pardon our filial display.'

'Of course, madame. I am a man of a family, as well.' There was much that was ironic in his words, but mother replied only with a smile.

'Well, we are quite safe discussing our business with my daughter here. Indeed, it does affect her, and I am certain that we are qualified to inform her.'

'Inform me of what?' I sat up, and looked from Lord Barquiel to my mother, both curious and convinced that their information could not have been very interesting, as they shared it freely with me. 'And where is papa?'

'Your papa is with Sidonie and Ysandre. They thought it important that they display solidarity with their appointed Champion, while I spoke with Lord Barquiel here, in the palace. And there is to be a fête, tonight, so you shall have to bathe again today, and wash away the dust of your travel. You look as though you have rolled in the road.'

'Ah!' I plucked at one of my daggers absently. 'Imri and I raced back to the City gates, and I lost. I owe him a forfeit.'

'Do you indeed?' mother exclaimed.

'And what, pray,' Lord Barquiel smiled, and there was nothing warm about his expression, 'was the forfeit which our prince claimed from you?'

'It is a secret, between fraternal parties.' I replied quickly, with a piquancy in my voice which I had never before in my life ventured against anyone beside Ti-Philippe, or Eugénie.

'Indeed.' He took himself a seat, seemingly unaffected by my impudence, though I knew, from a tightening of my mother's fingers upon my arm that I should hear of it later, and be reprimanded for it. 'I believe, comtesse, that we are quite finished here. I do not believe there is much to speak of with your daughter, as you do, and I am certain that you are eager to have her safely reinstated in your house.'

'I am indeed. It is good of you to have such sensitivity to a mother's instinct.' She rose, taking me with her, and curtseyed with the utmost grace. I bowed again, and bid farewell to him, feeling, as we took our leave of the study, a very deep gratefulness not to be forced into his presence for undue amounts of time.

'What were you speaking of, maman, that he did not think it important that I know?' I was anxious, now to hear what might have been said to me, the tantalization of the indefinite mysterious suddenly beckoning.

'Oh, it is nothing, love. It is only that he will be a part of the palace household when you are come to be fostered.'

'What!'

'His daughter, Valère, is leaving the City of Elua, returning to the Khalifate. She came here to leave Yseulte with her d'Angeline family, as she does not believe that Khebbel-im-Akkad is the proper place to raise a young lady. She has sons that will succeed the Khalif, and she must tend to their education. Lord Barquiel is to become the guardian of his granddaughter, and you are to be educated together in the palace come the summer.' She said all this as though it were the simplest thing in the world, and though I had liked Yseulte, when I had spoken to her at the various functions I had gone to in the City, I held a strong feeling of antipathy for Barquiel L'Envers.

I said nothing, however, and was only too grateful to be returned to the town house, despite that I was forced to bathe again, and was scrubbed head to toe by Clory, steeped in salted and scented water, and clothed in a gown of soaring sky blue, and adorned in ruby and topaz jewellery. Father had returned some time during my bath, and I flew into his arms when I found myself finally free of Clory. He kissed me and pressed me so firmly in his arms that my breath was short when he held me at arm's length, and mother sighed that he should crease my gown.

'But you look lovely, Ana!' He said, and I clung to his hand, passing my palm over his to feel the hewn, hard valleys and plains which the sword and daggers had long worn into them.

'You say I am lovely when I have just come in from hunting rabbits with Hugues.' I protested, but was nonetheless flushed with pleasure at his compliment.

'I shall learn to be more discriminating in your praise.' He said, and in no time at all we were in a carriage, and I was grateful not to be on horseback, for the night air was sharp and cold, my breath hanging like peripheral frost before me.

It was not a fête, exactly, which welcomed us upon our arrival, but rather a private dinner, celebrating Imriel and my return, and to wish Valère farewell, as she was to depart on the day following. Nicola L'Envers was present, as were her son, Colette, and Eldora. Bertran and his wife, and Laurient, also attended. Barquiel L'Envers was flanked by Maslin d'Aiglemort, and the Duc de Morbhan and his family. I was pleased to find that, despite the seeming festivity of the occasion, there was to be neither dancing nor games, only a feast upon goodwill and the excellent fare of the queen's hospitable board.

I was placed, at the table, between my father and Eldora, rather further from Laurient that I would have liked, but she made charming small talk through the opening courses of clear soup of asparagus and crisp wafers topped with cured meat and capers. When, however, a dish of roasted pheasant, still bearing its bright autumn plumage, and stuffed with pears, was brought, she began to inquire after my time at the hunting lodge, and by the time two capons and a sucking pig were distributed, she had gotten me past my annoyance with Narcisse's delusion that I was her doll, to Lady Roshana's disquieting shift between danger and matronly warmth, and my hesitant description of my rapidly bloomed friendship with Taurus.

'I have only met him twice,' she confided to me, 'his father does not often take him round. I found him rather cold, and it seemed as though he was always thinking somewhat unpleasant.'

'Not so,' I hastened to defend him. 'He is a little phlegmatic, that is all. When he reads to me, he goes all up in a dither, and it seems as though the characters were all leaping off the pages and into the room. Anyhow, I preferred his company to that of Narcisse.'

'Oh, but you _are_ peculiar,' Eldora sighed, rolling her dark eyes. 'I, for one, would love to have an older girl teaching me what to do with my hair, and dressing me in her _mode_.'

'Well, she isn't a half-poor rider, anyhow.' I decided. 'It was her mount that overtook the quarry first, but that, I expect, is because it is one of their Kusheline horses, and she is so light.'

'Oh, Ana, I despair of you!' it seemed to me that Eldora was attempting, too overtly, to portray a sense of maturity, and I suddenly felt as though I were not the gauche at the table, though I did not like myself thinking so.

'I believe,' I replied, 'that I shall do quite well.'

'And I,' Laurient's voice unexpectedly caught me, 'believe you shall, as well, should you surround yourself with such capital friends as you hitherto have, and cease knocking them down when they dance with you.' I allowed him his little joke, for no one else seemed to have comprehended it, though I did draw an inquiring glance from my father. I shrugged.

'If my dancing partners did not seek to rouse the Cassiline,' I retorted coolly, 'they must not fear that they shall meet him.' I caught the eye of Yseulte L'Envers de'l Khalifate, sitting, as she was, at Laurient's elbow, and winked at her. Her dark eyes grew wider still, and she smiled at me.

Perhaps the sympathy I felt for her was not so deep, but it was, at least, sincere. I did not, myself, fancy the idea of being given to the mercy of a man like Barquiel L'Envers, even if confronted with the choice between advanced d'Angeline education and the Oriental barbarism of Khebbel-im-Akkad. I knew, now, however, that she and I were to have some semblance of kinship with one another, and I wished to be friendly with her, as I could certainly not be friendly with her grandfather.

I thought of my own grandfather, Millard Verreuil, a tall, severe, one-handed man, with the same line to his jaw as my father, and I, and the same blue eyes and lean height. I thought of how he always gave me the seat at his side, when we visited Verreuil, and how he had watched me, in Montrève, training a hawk with silent pride shining in his face. The image came to me of him standing beside Barquiel L'Envers, both silver-haired, one with a long braid and the other with his so closely-cropped that the colour could scarce be defined at a distance. I thought of their similarities, the age-creased, still clean lines of their faces, the sharp beauty of their d'Angeline features, and wondered abstractly how much taller my grandfather was than Lord Barquiel.

'There!' Eldora's voice snapped me out of my reverie. 'That is precisely the look that Taurus Shahrizai wore when I met him. You mustn't allow it to catch on you, Anafielle. It is so unsuitable.'

I smiled blandly, and looked up at my father. 'My grandpère is the handsomest of anyone's grandpère.' I said, and returned my attention to the board.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: As it was in the chapters of old, so it is in the days of Noah. Sorry. I mean, the previous disclaimers apply to this chapter as well. Also, sorry for playing with your dollies Jacqueline. You should have made them less pretty.

NINE

It was not an unwelcome invitation, which summoned my father and I to the palace one afternoon to meet with Ysandre, only peculiar. I had been spending my days there, in company with Yseulte, while my mother spoke in conference with the queen and dauphine. I found the half Akkadian princess to be a very amiable companion to me, for she was as much a stranger to the City of Elua as I, having lived in the Khalifate until the past autumn. She was similar to me in some respects, though diametrically opposite in others. She was naturally timid, as I was, of strangers, but she had not been encouraged, as I had, toward physicality and sport. She had been confined to the _seraglio_ of the Akkadian palace, the chambers of women, with her father's concubines and their children, and was only allowed, otherwise, to frequent her mother's quarters. She had acquired talents, however, that I lacked, for she sang like an angel, and played the _guzla_, a three-stringed instrument, which, when employed upon with a horsehair bow, gave forth a sweet, sharp sound. She also was talented in the art of spoken poesy, her gentle rhythm causing light to glow in the eyes of Gilles Lamiz.

It was not an uncommon thing for Yseulte and I to be found together in the days that followed, sitting in a near-darkened room, our heads close together, whispering by speaking in tales and poetry. Of a truth, I scarcely remember all the things we spoke on, only that she seemed, to me, betimes, to be an endless source of the most charming entertainments. I liked her far better than Eldora, for though the latter was an engaging girl, she was, to her fingertips, a child of the City, and one I found myself always in need of following. Yseulte's was a more equal partnership, and if it was not terribly adventurous of me to sit and speak to her, there was a rightness, and beauty in it, by which I neither felt threatened, nor pressured to adopt.

Still, my presence, and that of my father, was desired by the queen on a particular day, and we were prompt to obey Ysandre. She received us in an indoor garden, where flowers and vine fruits were preserved alive, artificially, during the winter months, by a method of steam water and the direction of sunlight with various glasses.

She was not alone, the queen, but leant upon the arm of another woman. They were speaking in low voices, cheerily, when we entered, and as my father and I bowed to Ysandre, she gave us the kiss of greeting, her smile warm, her eyes softer than ere I had seen them.

'This is Xephane nó Eglantine,' she said, gesturing to her companion, who was a long, graceful woman, as tall as a man, and dressed, furthermore, in breeches and riding boots cut above her knees, with a short garnet coloured jacket fitting close up against her throat in a froth of lace. She gave a bow, herself, a performer's bow, with an easy and enviable grace, her chestnut hair free and falling over her shoulders as she straightened. Her eyes were a little hard and overcanny, an indeterminate shade betwixt grey and gold. She held an eccentric sort of cane, fully my height, and bearing silver filigree round it, embedded like vines in the dark, reddish wood.

'Good day, Lord Verreuil, and Vicomtesse de Montrève.' The Eglantine adept said, and father kissed her hand.

'Good day, my lady,' father said, politely, and my voice was a near echo of his.

'She is a gift for you, vicomtesse,' the queen said, 'out of the finest _Salon du Danse_ in the City of Elua. She will accompany you to Montrève, and teach you all the niceties of deportment, as well, I imagine, as how to throw a standing somersault.' I stared up at this woman, a veritable giant to me, who appeared to be my new dancing-teacher, and managed to stammer out my thanks to Ysandre. 'Come, Joscelin,' she turned to my father, who offered his arm automatically, 'shall we allow the tutor and her new pupil to become acquainted?' I petitioned him with my eyes not to go, but he only gave me a peremptory look, which instructed me to behave, and disappeared, with the queen on his arm.

I found myself facing my new dancing mistress with some trepidation. She was an intimidating figure, with her severe features, and the cane she carried. I was, however, unwilling to shrink from anyone with so limited an authority over my person, who was, furthermore, hired to serve me, and recalled to my mind the motto of Eglantine House, out of which this solemn-faced woman was bred: 'to create is to live,' was the phrase by which their lives were governed, and, even as I studied Xephane, I detected a sort of dancing mischief in her eyes, onto which I affixed my attention.

'Vicomtesse,' she began, laying aside her cane and coat, and crossing her arms, 'her majesty informs me that you are not wholly uneducated in courtly matters, only that you are unrefined as a country squire. Also, you have some Cassiline disciplines returned upon you by your father, is it not so?' I nodded. 'Then you are light on your feet?'

'I hope I have sufficient dexterity.' I replied, provoking her to an unexpected smile.

'You take pride in knowledge, do you? Are you a good study?'

'Cassiel's disciplines are hardly equal to dancing. They are an ancient and respected practise, by which we learn to bring our minds and bodies under subjection to Blessed Elua.' I replied, with a little asperity. I was unaccustomed to having such surprises as this thrust upon me, and it appeared as though I would not be released from this woman's custody until such time as she saw fit.

'Is dancing any less sacred?' Xephane began to circle me, slowly, and it was involuntarily that I turned, following her with my eyes. 'It is a ritual by which we pay homage to the Precept of Elua, in courtship, and it may signify as complete a binding between partners as the bond between Cassiel and Blessed Elua. Is it not so?'

I shrugged. 'I do not wholly perceive the veracity of your reasoning, but I have now given myself voluntarily to your tutelage, and you shall not find a reluctant student in me.' I found myself falling automatically into formulaic courtly speech, with which I had become so newly acquainted.

'Just as well.' She snapped her fingers. 'I wish to dance with you very soon, but our first lesson shall be theoretical.'

'Theoretical?' I sneered, forgetting myself. 'How can dancing be―'

'Come,' she cut me off casually, with a casual flick of her wrist, taking up a small volume bound in leather and engraved with the marque of Eglantine, from the inner pocket of her discarded jacket, 'This is a book published by a long-deceased dowayne of Eglantine House, which has long been canon of our house, required reading for those with the skill of dancing or tumbling. We shall not read it entirely yet, for there are portions which are unsuitable for you, but there are several chapters devoted to instructing those with a martial turn to their agility, which I believe will benefit both of us greatly.' She sat herself upon a settee of cured and thatched vines, and beckoned to me. I have ever been one to respond to the promise of a story, and I went. She opened the book to a print of a man, in an elaborate pose similar to the _cygnus_, though he was dressed as a tumbler, in chequered pantaloons and a domino which obscured his face, only sufficiently that his identity was protected, but it did not hide the exaggerated grin the artist had cut into his features. 'Chapter the first,' she began to read the neatly written letters, 'to create is to live.'

I listened to her even, earnest voice reading out the study. It was not a textbook, as I had expected, but rather, a memoir, of a long-deceased Eglantine dowayne by the name of Fenouil Bonfoi, bred for the Night Court by adepts out of Gentian and Eglantine. His mother had been a flautist, and his father, a dreamy-eyed prophet. The initial chapters were rather slow going, describing a childhood torn betwixt the two houses, for though he had been born in and for House Eglantine, he'd had a certain tendency toward the dreamy Gentian, which his mother had been hard-pressed to replace with a desire to create. At the age of twelve, he had suddenly discovered a talent for dancing, and two years later, he was further committed to Eglantine when he fell in love with a young poetess. He had been dedicated to Naamah at the age of thirteen, as is usual for adepts of the Night Court, and had begun instruction, both in the knowledge of pleasure and in the dance, the creation which he had chosen to pursue.

It was here that Xephane closed the book. I looked up at her, puzzled. 'We have read nothing of instruction.'

'Yes, we have.' She smiled, and stood, taking me with her. 'We have read of the struggle between conflicting desires. Young Fenouil was born between Gentian and Eglantine, as you were born between your duty as a lady and your love of freedom.' I stared up at her, and her smile deepened into her eyes. 'Our next lesson, vicomtesse, will be tomorrow in your mother's study, at your own house.'

I found, as she escorted me from the garden to the study where Ysandre entertained my father, that I could give myself very easily over to her leadership, as simply as, every morning, I gave myself over to my father, and to Cassiel.

The weeks leading to the Longest Night were idyllic―quiet and restful, and I found myself unexpectedly enjoying the new lessons to which I was put, both with Xephane and with my mother. Heretofore, my education had been a mixed lot, fitting, certainly, for the daughter of the Comtesse de Montrève, but mayhap a little deficient for that of Phèdre nó Delaunay. Now, added to my curriculum of calculation, reading, history, and sciences was an entirely new subject―that of covertcy. I began to memorise the names of the Great Houses and their scions, to learn the intricate dance of court, to hear the sordid details underlying the subtle shifts of power governing Terre d'Ange. I read of Rolande de la Courcel and Anafiel Delaunay, how Ysandre's mother, Isabel L'Envers, had been a murderess, how Imriel's mother had sinned against the crown and country. I had known that he was ashamed of his heritage, and I had known that her crimes were great, but I knew, also, that she had loved Imriel, and that, for many years, was enough to pardon her in my mind. I learnt of Lyonette and Baudoin de Trevalion's treachery with an eye toward how Melisande Shahrizai had been involved. I began to perceive, very slowly, patterns, to deduce from what I saw, and to recall both observations and conclusions.

Though I was scarcely the figure of a model pupil with my mother, she, at least, commanded my love, and therefore my respect, and could corral me, in my more rebellious moods, with a sharp glance from her mote-stricken eyes. Xephane nó Eglantine had no such advantage, so it was well enough that the disciplines she engaged me in were physical, and therefore unlikely to bore me as quickly as those studies focused purely in the mind, and the theoretical. It is true, we read more from the memoirs of Fenouil Bonfoi, and from other books of the canon of Eglantine House, but we progressed very quickly to practical lessons.

Still, learning to waltz and gavotte, and properly execute a formal curtsey, were not without their difficulties. I found myself, more often than not, being rapped smartly on the calves with Xephane's walking-stick, or my shoulders pushed back and my chin tilted upward with her strong, hard-palmed hands. During our lessons, I was forced out of my riding boots and into merciless, hard-heeled little dancing slippers of lovely, pale yellow satin, which I loathed with all the fury of my wayward heart. A thing which galled me, though I always wished it would not, was how Xephane would sigh and declare, in a mournful whisper, 'Oh, you shall be so ugly when you are thirteen.' In a fit of annoyance, I tattled on her to my mother, who laughed at me.

'And so what? She would know, would she not? Raised and bred for the Night Court, with her marque made in four months?' she took me into her arms, here, as though to soften the next words she said. 'And anyway, I think she is right. You shall be all legs and arms till you are at least fifteen. But then think of how all the boys will gape at you when you are eligible for courting. Why, they shan't know who you are.'

'I don't care.' I replied, haughtily. 'I don't care if I am ugly, and I shan't care if I am pretty.'

'Well, you will be both, and I think it will be good for you.' I was somewhat pacified by this, but only because I knew how wise my mother was. 'Well and so,' she continued, 'you shall at least be very lovely for the Longest Night at the palace.' My eyes opened wide at this, for I had forgotten the celebration, as much as I anticipated it every year. The last time my parents had celebrated it in the City of Elua, I had been only four, and did not recall much beside a whirl of capes and cloaks, of masks and gowns, and the marked absence of my father. He had been, as he was nearly every year, observing Cassiel's vigil in the Sanctuary of Elua.

This year, however, he would be attending, at the particular request of Ysandre, and, in yielding to the queen, he was compelled to accompany my mother and I to Favrielle's salon to be measured for a costume.

We stood, the three of us, and Ti-Philippe, who would be minding me, before Favrielle's stern, grey-eyed gaze, and I wondered whether I would need to come to her so often as I had in the past months when I came to the City of Elua to foster.

'You expect much, comtesse,' she repeated the much-used line, still with a wry twinkle in her eyes, 'but if you carry on being so damned useful to the queen, I suppose I have no place throwing out your custom. Particularly if you bring your chevalier with you rather oftener.' She plucked flirtatiously at Philippe's collar, and he winked back, without breaking the regimental pose he held. I suspected Philippe could hold himself like a sailor proper during even a full blown gale. Finally, Favrielle, tapping her forefinger against her teeth and nodded, as though coming to a conclusion. 'Alban gods.' She nodded again, several times. 'Risky, of course―they are not so well known, but it does honour to the queen and the dauphine, and since she has wed your Shahrizai spawn, there has been far less murmuring about her father's blood. It will give your vicomtese something to speak about, also, when she meets the Cruarch.' Favrielle pulled a crayon absently from behind her ear a flicked through a stack of drawings until she came to the one she had made of my Tsingani costume. 'This gave you all the elegance of a little woodland scamp.' I grinned at her description, trading amused smiles with my father.

'It won't do,' my mother said quietly, 'not for the Longest Night.'

'No, indeed.' Favrielle agreed. 'The goddess Sadbh, I think,' she squinted at me. 'An Alban myth, a white doe, the mother of a whole host of other deities. She shall be charming in the mask of a deer, no need to constrict her with a gown. It shall be scarves for you.' She pulled me toward her, and tried a handful of filmy, light colours against my skin. 'More blue in the white, I think.' She murmured.

'Would you be very wroth with me,' mother said, 'if I told you I wished to have Ana and Ti-Philippe a pair, separate from Joscelin and I?'

'Oh, no.' Favrielle smiled again. 'I think you have read my mind. You would make lovely Menekhetans.'

'Surely not!' my father insisted.

'Oh, no, Joscelin, she is quite right.' My mother sighed. 'It will annoy the Duc L'Envers very much, but he knows better than to doubt us. And no one else can be aware of their plans beside the queen, and you know, I think she will find it very amusing.'

'You have discussed this already.' Father said flatly, looking from mother to Favrielle, his eyes narrow. He rolled his eyes, then drew up nearer my mother as Favrielle turned away to fuss with the points of Philippe's shirt, speaking in a low tone. 'Phèdre, the message was hardly clear. Even L'Envers could not name all his sources, or the channels through which they passed their knowledge.'

'Notwithstanding,' my mother smiled at Favrielle, 'I do have an affection for white this time of year. And you, Joscelin, would you rather parade yourself before the peers of the realm in cloth-of-gold? We could go as Apollo and Daphne, you and I.' she smiled covertly, and Favrielle grunted somewhat in assent, holding a scrap of ruddy gold fabric against my father's cheek.

'The colour looks well enough on him, comtesse,' she murmured, her voice serious, but still with a vague dance of mischief in her eyes. My father batted her hand away with a practised gesture, and leant toward my mother, framing her between himself and the wall of the salon. I saw her yearn toward him, even as she pressed herself against the wall, and he smiled.

'Will you have me wear kohl round my eyes?' he bargained.

'Not if you wear a falcon's mask.' My mother smiled obliquely, as Favrielle began scribbling a design on a piece of foolscap.

'No laces, no fripperies, no madcap confrontations with L'Envers?'

'Well, love, I can hardly predict what he will do.' Mother demurred, and father sighed.

'Done, then.' He turned from her toward Favrielle, leaning over her shoulder, but she nudged him away with a moue of annoyance. 'And what will our noble Ti-Philippe be, from the Alban pantheon?'

She considered a moment, but only as though she could not recall a name. 'The hound. Sceolan, I think it was called.' She huffed. 'Such harsh words, this Alban tongue. In the legend of Sadbh, she refused the love of a druid, and he enchanted her into a deer. She ran to a sacred place, and there, the enchantment could not touch her. The king hunted her, but his hounds would not touch her.' She tapped Philippe on the shoulder. 'I will have drawings for you tomorrow, comtesse, and we can modify them as you see fit.'

My mother nodded, and, after a few business dealings, we retired from the salon, returning to the town house to idle away the winter hours.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Same as before. Not mine.

A/N: I realise that the updates have, A, been few and far between lately, but suffice it to say that the past semester has been extremely trying. I've had quite a few health issues (one big scare, one little one) between both myself and my dog, and B, a lot of you are looking forward to seeing Ana at a later age. I'll admit, following a ten-year-old girl round a castle isn't exactly gripping story-telling, but there are a lot of things I'm developing. Trust me, I had bits of this story scribbled down with Ana in her thirties, so it's not like I'm not planning to take this all the way. It'll just take a while. Good stories need a lot of good development, and there'll be quite a few more chapters with her as a young adolescent.

Never fear, however, there will be a good age-jump forthcoming. And now, on with the show.

TEN

The morning of the Longest Night, we broke our fasts sparingly. There was sweet, milky tea and freshly-baked bread, fragrant with rosemary and soft centred cheese, butter, honey, and winter apples, roasted and filled with cream and cinnamon. I ate with a will, knowing that I should not eat again till the masque at the palace.

It had snowed during the night, and the courtyard had furthermore iced over, so my father and I were reduced to minimal stretches and slow reviews in mother's hypocaust-warmed garden, where Eugénie's prize flower bulbs slept for the winter. I chafed at the slow going, and complained that Xephane nó Eglantine taught me in mother's study, clearing the centre of the room and piling a load of books on my head to teach me to curtsey, but papa pointed out that Xephane's instruction did not involve blades, and even wooden ones could do irreparable damage to my mother's books and scrolls.

I was spared my lessons for the day, and Xephane did not even come to the house. I learnt later that she had been commissioned by Cereus House to teach their ten-year-olds a brief presentation for the Midwinter Masque being held on Mont Nuit.

There were some hours of idleness yet before Favrielle's outfitters would arrive to dress us. It had been decided, rather at the last minute, that both Hugues and Ti-Philippe would attend me, as there were two hounds in the legend of Sadbh, Sceolan and Bran. Favrielle made a fuss about it, but it had been her idea to begin with, and she preferred the symmetry which the addition of Hughes added to her motif.

I spent as much of the morning as I was allowed outside in the snow, which was still falling in heavy flurries. I built fortresses and assailed them with ice-ships and models of siege engines which my uncle Mahieu and his son, my favourite cousin, Sanguieur, had helped me build. They were small trebuchets, operated by levers and springs, and since their initial assembling, I had often taken them apart and made small adjustments.

Soon, I tired of sitting in the cold, and, gathering up my playthings, I trundled back into the house. I admit, I rather left the models scattered across my floor, and rushed into the kitchen to accept the bowl of warm milk Eugénie had prepared for me. I sat in front of the stove with my frozen toes, with her cat curled in my lap until Clory came to collect me for my bath.

I sat and soaked in scented, frothy bubbles as Clory scrubbed my hair, and I luxuriated in it, trying to ignore the crowded tension in my belly at knowing that I would soon be among all the peers of the realm, and not merely a minor Siovalese heir, but as a future fosterling of the reigning house of our sovereign nation. Even so young, I was very conscious of the increase in status this brought, and doubly conscious of the attention it would confer on me. At least, I thought, there was a chance of seeing Taurus. To be sure, for all the new companions I had met, he was the one with whom I had most easily identified. For aught that he was some three years my senior, and elegantly knowledgeable in all minutiae of court, he had not once made me feel awkward or provincial. I liked Yseulte, too, but she was so very much a thing out of a women's world, and would not understand such things as I yearned for. She could not comprehend my exhilaration at Cassiline drills, at seeing small mechanical parts moving with clockwork precision, or reading from folios of old military campaigns in unfrequented studies.

That was another thing I looked forward to on my visits to the palace. I was often unobserved, if I could first slip away from attendants, and as I kept to myself in quiet places, I was not gainsaid. I had found a study, I knew not whose, but it stood empty whenever I was in it. It was a simple enough room, lacking ostentation, and free from identifying marks of any kind. There were no signets or letters on the desk, nor tokens of the individual to whom it was reserved. Many peers may be in residence at the palace at any given time, and in the winter, there are more than ever, and I had little interest as to the one who had compiled the contents of this study. However, the contents themselves, well, they were another matter entirely.

There were books, folios, wrapped parchments, in all languages, depicting military history and strategy in the most fascinating terms. There were stories of battles fought, as related by their generals, and by troops involved, calculations and theories of war, even measurements of battlefields and postulations of strategies should they be fought upon again. Mostly, these were in d'Angeline, but there were also a good deal of treatises in Caerdicci and Hellene, and a fair few in Akkadian, which I could speak tolerably, but which I was no great talent at reading.

The study itself was in an unfrequented corner of the palace, but it was an expansive room with some very singular furniture. The centrepiece of it all was a table about six feet square, depicting Terre d'Ange, a fair deal of Skaldia in the east, Euskerria, and much of Aragonia to the west, and all of the islands of Alba and Eire. Upon it were ranged a number of small figures, representing strongholds and assets of power, whether they were fortresses or bodies of men, ships, or sovereigns. The terrain of the map had been carefully rendered upon with representation of the terrain, such as mountain ranges, forests, and bodies of water, so that the greatest verisimilitude was achieved. This board was the source of hours of fascinating study for me, and though I never touched the figurines thereupon, I always studied them with interest every time I entered. Usually, they were unchanged, but once or twice there was a small piece, denoting a company of infantry or cavalry, and once a ship, moved in some slight way.

There was another desk, this one for writing, occasionally scattered with papers, but there was never any trace of correspondence, and nothing to indicate the inhabitant of the study. A smaller desk, as for a scribe, lay a little to the left, nearly hidden in a corner, and that was always swept clean, save an inkwell, pen, and a small knife to trim the pen with.

And then there were the bookshelves. Filled with fascinating histories and instruction manuals for strategising, ranging from explanation defining guides for beginning students to complex formation lines for armies, based upon field position, troops, number, terrain, and even weather. I did not understand most of these, but I found endless interest in the histories, which were as good as the play to me. I had spent a good deal of time there, alone, reading from folios and replacing them as quickly. Betimes, I had recourse to asking my mother what certain terms meant, and not always in d'Angeline, but if she guessed that I was invading the study of an unknown peer, she said nothing. All knowledge is worth having, and after all, she ruled a Siovalese county.

I wondered what Taurus would make of it, this wondrous cavern of knowledge, he who was so eager to plight his troth to the Universities of Iskandria, to give his scholar's mind to the Hellenic influences and austere ancient wisdom of Menekhet, but then Favrielle's apprentices arrived, and I was caught up by two of them to be cosseted, painted, dressed, and dolled over the next two hours.

It was a dreadful process, but I had endured worse during my father's training, and withstood quietly enough to make one of the apprentices favour me with a handful of sweets and a kiss before he left.

I stared at myself in the glass as the last hairpin was pushed into my elaborate coif, which was coiled into a braid studded with seed pearls and pinned like an ebony crown to my scalp. My costume was minimal, the mask beautifully cured leather, white and soft as butter, with fittings to accommodate my skull precisely. The costume was deceptively simple and clean, a single piece, fitting closely up under my chin with an effervescence of lace. The material was white silk, with the merest hint of embroidery, the threads of which were only a single shade bluer than the white, a pattern of leaves and vines and small flowers in looping spirals. The toes of the boots aped a pair of delicate hooves, divided as deer hooves are, into points, cunningly wrought and gilt with the same pattern of vines and flowers as my costume. I felt rather more small and exposed in this costume than I had expected, but there was a short, warm cloak to go round my shoulders, of white ermine, to warm off the evening chill, and to give me the comfort of drapery.

En masque, I admit, I cut a mystical and sylvan figure, particularly when flanked by Ti-Philippe and Hugues. Their costumes were identical, though Hugues' was larger by far. They wore hounds' masks, noble, austere and wolf like, with upright ears. Their doublets were black and studded with metal rivulets at the shoulders, and they wore heavy leather collars with the names of the hounds they portrayed engraved in the silver discs appended thereupon. They were stark black and ominous behind me, tethered agents of the forest, a vanguard fit for a deity.

Mother and father surpassed us all.

Poised and elegant, glittering in white linen and gold, wearing the masks of Horus and Hathor, bearing the regalia of divine office, they painted a stark and beautiful picture of ancient glory. There really was a sort of magic in Favrielle's genius, somewhat other than worldly.

We travelled to the palace in a coach. It was too cold to do aught else, and even with heated stones and fur blankets, I huddled enough to cause my mother to chide me for creasing my cloak. I had a care, after that, and by the time we reached the palace, I was loathe to leave the warmth and safety of the carriage

Of course, I knew in the end that needs must, and I followed my parents into the warm hall. Our names were announced. This time, my father and mother preceded me into the ballroom, regal and masked, and I, feeling dwarfed by Ti-Philippe and Hugues, followed the announcement of my name.

I saw Imriel first, my eyes flying to him, picking him out of the crowd like a lodestone swinging toward the north. He was dancing with the queen, a marginal step slower than the music to accommodate her, and still in rhythm. Sidonie came toward us, greeting my parents and lifting her mask to kiss my hand. She was some manner of exotic bird, in a clean-lined white gown and vivid jewel-toned feathers.

'Ana, you look lovely. Sadbh and the king's magic hounds, is it not?' she laughed and clapped. 'Come, the children are merrymaking in this corner, with the refreshments. I will take you to see your friends.' She led me by the hand to a corner of the room where the children of the peerage were assembled, at least forty, all under thirteen. Among them it was easy enough to pick out Laurient, standing at right-angles to Eldora and Gaël de Morbhan, who was turned away, making conversation with Taurus.

I would have gravitated toward Yseulte, but she was speaking quietly with Béringuieur Roualt. She was smiling, and so was he, their heads bent together. I may have been a rank provincial, but even I could see how they stood apart from the others.

'Montrève!' an exuberant voice called. I looked up to see Taurus heading toward me, his young cousin Maphiste in tow. 'Montrève! Joie to you on this Longest Night!' he pushed his eagle's mask back, grinning, and I did the same with the doe mask. He dropped a kiss on my brow.

'Joie to you, Taurus,' I turned toward Maphiste, whose arms were outstretched in a demand for an embrace. I kissed him dutifully, and he smiled. 'Joie, Maphiste.'

'Joie, Ana.' He said, clinging to Taurus' arm. 'You look like a deer,' he himself wore a simple black suit, embroidered with gold, wearing a black and gold domino, the colours of House Shahrizai.

'I am a magic deer,' I said, 'and those,' I gestured toward Hugues and Ti-Philippe, who stood patiently at the edge of the crowd of children, watching vigilantly, 'are my magic hounds, Bran and Sceolan.'

Taurus took my arm, steering me toward the refreshment table. 'What will you, Montrève? Have some food, and dance with me before someone carries you off.'

'As you like, my Lord Shahrizai.' I dipped a tolerable curtsey, and he laughed, clapping his hands in pleased astonishment.

'Oh! I heard you were getting dancing lessons from a former Eglantine adept, but I did not know they were making a _girl_ of you!'

'They're giving a spirited attempt.' I replied coolly, taking such pastries from the finger-board as suited me. He laughed again, drawing some attention. From the corner of my eye, I saw Eldora heading toward me, Laurient skulking along in her wake. Maphiste abandoned Taurus for a waiter serving ices.

'Joie to you on this Longest Night, Anafielle.' Eldora said, embracing me. 'How is it that you neglect me in favour of his boy?' I nearly laughed aloud at her silliness.

'You seemed busy.' I nodded to Laurient. 'Joie, Laurient.'

He leant forward, and drew me into his arms. He was dressed as an Admiral's man, in a blue jacket with enormous jewelled buttons, decorated with the Navigator's Star. 'Joie.' He smiled. 'Ana,' his lips twisted into a wry smile. 'My mother will die of jealousy when she sees your whole family has been outfitted by Favrielle nó Eglantine down to your retainers. Ah, well,' he held out a hand. 'Will you dance?'

I blushed and looked at Taurus. 'I have promised the first dance to my Lord Shahrizai.'

Laurient chuckled good-naturedly. 'Oh, well, I see I must defer. Hurry, then, there is talk of a game of rhythmomachy to entertain us children. I will not boast, but I am a deft hand at it.'

'Oh?' I smiled, for Ti-Philippe had taught me rhythmomachy, and he was no mean opponent, even against peers in the Hall of Games. 'We shall have to see, then.'

'I'll not hurry for you, Trevalion,' Taurus joked, 'and I have heard that you are easily enough distracted. Mayhap I will entertain the vicomtesse well enough this Longest Night.'

Laurient's mouth pursed, but he waved Taurus away. 'I'll not forget. One dance, Anafielle, and then you must come back.'

It was only one dance, but it was with Taurus. He had learnt very well the trick of soothing my self-awareness, complimenting my dancing without attributing it to Xephane, talking of his eagerness to see Kusheth, and how much fun we should have come summer in the City. For my part, I related to him the story of the marvellous study I had found, and the mysterious inhabitant, whom I never saw, and he promised that we should discover who it was. 'We'll rule the City, Montrève,' he enthused. 'Or at please the palace. I shall show you all the best places. And my grandpère's townhouse has a tepidarium, as good as any bath in Tiberium! And my father says that I shall have my own library there.' He smiled devilishly. 'And some day, Montrève, you will meet my mother. Only, you must promise that you will never tell anyone that I know who she is. It is a great secret of my House, and dangerous to know.' He spun me to a halt as the music stopped, and I faced him breathlessly. 'Promise?'

'I promise.'

He smiled, a mad-cap smile, his father's smile. 'I trust you, Montrève.' He bent, and kissed me solemnly, his hands warm against my throat. 'There, Montrève. We have a secret. Someday, we shall have hundreds together.' He towed me back to the children's corner, where Maphiste was waiting for him, and Yseulte, Laurient, Béringuieur, and Gaël de Morbhan were watching us idly.

'Come, we have enough for teams of three.' Laurient said, motioning toward the rhythmomachy board, which had been set up in a quiet alcove.

Taurus looked sidelong at me. 'You, myself, and Gaël against Trevalion, Béringuieur, and the princess?' he suggested. 'Or is that unfair?'

I shrugged. 'Maphiste?'

'Too small to play. Cycles of one and a half, then.' Taurus decided. 'To board.'

We played and laughed and ate and talked, as children do, and once Eldora dragged Béringuieur up for a dance, claiming the song was her favourite. The boys cheerfully calumniated Béringuieur as allowing himself to be led about by every girl who bothered to try, and carried on jesting when he returned. I wondered idly whether they joked about me in my absence, and found that I didn't care.

I would have liked to stay on through the play of the Winter Queen and the Sun Prince, but an odd thing happened, and truly, I found it so peculiar that I can do nothing but relate it to you. I was engaged very happily in childish banter, glancing round occasionally to catch sight of my mother, when a tall figure stepped up, quite close to me. At first I thought that it must be Hugues or Ti-Philippe, come to ensure my place at the viewing of the pantomime, but a questioning glance from Taurus told me it was not so. His smile had gone a little strange, and he was taking a rather guarded bow. I turned.

The man behind me was no stranger, with his mask pushed up over his forehead and his canny dark eyes set in a beautiful, fox-clever face. I curtseyed. 'My Lord de Fhirze.' It was the son of the Marquise Diànne de Fhirze, Tycélin, a handsome youth of nearly eighteen, who had flirted with my father during our supper with them not a week previous.

'Little Anafielle de Montrève,' he took my hand with a smile, and kissed it. 'Joie to you, little one.'

Warily, I returned the smile. 'Joie, my lord.'

'Will you watch the play with me, vicomtesse? I would take it was a great favour if you would.'

I glanced at Taurus for a cue, almost without thinking. His blue eyes were shuttered, but a curious light had entered them. I dipped again. 'My Lord de Fhirze, I am your servant.' I expected him to hold out his arm for me; even at nine, I was tall enough to walk arm-in-arm with any grown man without discomfort. We breed tall in Verreuil. But Tycélin de Fhirze scooped my hand into his casually, almost as though he'd not considered his actions, and towed me toward the false mountain crag on which the play would unfold.

'Have you enjoyed the masque, vicomtesse?' he inquired solicitously, and I looked round, relieved to see Ti-Philippe and Hugues were not four paces behind us.

'My lord, I have.'

'Good.' To my surprise, his smile was one of genuine pleasure. 'I hoped you would enjoy it. This is your first Midwinter Masque in the City of Elua, is it not?'

I nodded. 'The first that matters, my lord.' And then the lights dimmed, trumpets blared, and the play began.

I do not think I need relate it, how the Sun Prince enters and the Winter Queen drops her staff, how he puts the ring upon her finger, and she discards her mask and rags to become upright and beautiful, as the Night Crier strikes his gong and the horologists cry out the hour of midnight. It is a very old play. My mother says it is older even than Elua, an ancient tradition which he came to love. I cheered as the Queen shed her age and became the handsome Prince's bride, cheered with everyone, with the voice of all the peers and attendants. I turned exuberantly and embraced Tycélin de Fhirze, upswept in the joy of the moment, how the new year had entered. He pressed me in his arms and kissed my temple, his arms slender steel cables beneath his corded silk jacket, and in that moment, in his smile, I saw somewhat familiar, his dark and shining eyes were eyes I had known all my life.

When the music of the trumpets had died away, I looked up at him. His face had changed again, settling into its habitual half-smiling cleverness. He was very handsome, was Tycélin de Fhirze, and I found myself wondering what a true-blooded scion of Naamah could possibly want with me. Certainly, I was conscious that I was due for a good position in the court, and that there were nobles who knew they could not begin too early to build up a rapport with me, and I dismissed his attentions as such. But I could not deny the motion of my own thoughts, how something in him called to me, like brother to brother.

Before I was sent away from the masque, before the attendees sank deeper into their cups and the entertainment became raucous, I sought out my friends. I embraced Laurient and Béringuieur, and got myself stuck with Maphiste clinging to me. As Hugues and Ti-Philippe came forward to collect me, I turned to Taurus. 'Write to me,' I said, 'in Montrève. During the spring.'

He pressed my hands, and kissed me. 'Of course. Joie, Montrève.'

Thus passed the Longest Night.

I was put down for the night in Yseulte's quarters, for which I was grateful. I was not yet prepared to sleep alone in the palace, and I was still in a tizzy of excitement from the ball. Though we were excluded from the remainder of the festivities, a time of license in a city renowned for its permissiveness, we were not required, exactly, to go to sleep. An attendant brought a platter with various pastries and savouries from the finger-board for us to eat, and we talked long into the wee hours. There are a thousand things a pair of young girls can speak of, even two as different as Yseulte and I, not the least of which was boys. 'Eldora likes Laurient.' Yseulte confided in me, 'thought she pretends not to. And Gaël, well, he dotes on Taurus, does he not?' she snickered when I made a comment more suited to a sailor than to a girl of nine. I am d'Angeline. Even then, I was not ignorant of some things. 'Who do you like?' she nudged me. 'You get on so well with all the boys, you'd never know, listening to you, that you aren't one.' Her voice held a faint note of envy. I shook my head ruefully.

'Oh, they're all too busy admiring you to bother with me, Yseulte.' I curled toward her in the half-light cast by the flickering tapers. 'They don't see me as different from one another. Anyhow, I like them all. Even Maphiste. He's a dear little thing.'

'His elder sister is so lovely.' Yseulte reflected with a sigh. At fourteen, Narcisse had attended the main body of the ball, but she had stopped by, on the arm of Estienne de Morbhan, to bid us joie, and to kiss her cousins.

'All the Shahrizai are beautiful.' I murmured. 'Imriel is their kin, by his mother.'

'Yes,' she reflected, 'but he has somewhat apart from them. He is more thoughtful, and,' she smiled secretively, 'he has the same eyebrows as the dauphine.'

I nodded. They did share similar features, the line of the jaw, the Courcel stubbornness. With his blue-black hair and dangerous beauty, it was easy to forget that Imri was Elua's scion as much as Kushiel's. 'Well,' I said, 'Taurus is thoughtful, too.'

'Yes.' Yseulte snuggled closer to me, eyelids fluttering closed, 'I suppose he is.'

It was not at all very many minutes later that she was asleep, and I followed soon thereafter, passing from the Longest Night into blessed silence, with the peace of Elua all round us.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Same as last.

ELEVEN

With the Longest Night behind us, my mother began to plan to return to Siovale. She promised that during the spring I should have the opportunity to visit Verreuil, which was further west, toward Euskerria, than Montrève. It was not often that we visited my father's childhood home, and I was glad of the promise of home before my official debut in the City of Elua. 

We could not, in all good conscience, leave directly after the Longest Night, but it was not a week later that we found ourselves taking our leave of the queen, and the royal family. 

'I shall count the days till your return,' Sidonie said, smiling and kissing my forehead.

'You were a dear companion.' 

'I shall write to you, and to Imriel.' I said, and turned to Yseulte, who sat quietly, keeping to herself, while the Duc L'Envers glowered behind her. She rose to kiss me, and I pressed her hands. 'You will not be too oppressed by tutors?' I smiled, and she laughed. 

'Oh, no I think not. But hurry back. Shamash provide that you do not break your neck killing boars.' It had become a running joke, and I rolled my eyes. 

'Blessed Elua keep you, and hold you in his hands.' I said, and embraced her. 

Imriel walked with us to the courtyard, where our men-at-arms and attendants awaited us, a pair of carriages and a company of horses composing our travelling party. He embraced my parents fondly, and kissed me, mussing my hair. 'Stay safe, Ana.' He grinned, squinting into the sunlight reflected off the snow, as I swung up into Hephaestos' saddle. 'We shall see you come summer.' 

We took to the road with little ceremony, and I found myself singing in harmony with Hugues as we rode out of the City into the open, rolling country beyond, toward Eisheth's Way. 

The air was beautifully crisp and clean, not at all too cold, and the scent of spring was already riding the wind as we rode. 

The way from the City to Montrève was not long, five or six days at most with a party such as we were, though I have since made the journey in three days on horseback, without crippling either myself or my beast. It is simply a matter of being without attendants and carriages, and of knowing the country well. 

When we arrived in Montrève, we were expected. There were roaring fires in all the rooms, and in the dining hall, and my bed was lined with hot stones to heat the linens. Richeline Friote and her daughter Katherine had prepared for us a bountiful supper of mutton, braised with carrots and pickled cabbage, freshly baked bread and hot onion soup with leeks, and cheese with dried fruit for pudding. After so many weeks eating the dandified fare popular in the City, I was glad of simple, hearty food that filled the travel-hunger and caused the body to sing with warmth. 

That night, I carefully wrote letters to each of the people with whom I had promised to correspond—first a letter to both Sidonie and Imriel, then one for Yseulte, one for Laurient, and one for Taurus. I sealed them up using the crest of Montrève, all save that which I sent to Imriel and Sidonie, for which I used the seal she had commissioned for me, bearing the crests of House Montrève and House Courcel. 

The winter was a mild one, as Siovalese winters go, and people said it was a mercy that there came no snows or blizzards, though snow fell nearly every day. We were not at any very great height; the mountains of Siovale are not so high and fierce as the Camaelines, but their weather is still harsher than that of l'Agnace, which is in the bowl of Terre d'Ange, with its gentle landscapes and plentiful orchards. 

If I did not have so many tutors rushing after me as I had in the palace, here, at least, I received far more focus from those I did have. Xephane nó Eglantine had accompanied us from the City, and continued instructing me, not only in dance, but in all the minute protocols of court etiquette, such as the depth of a curtsey or bow, the proper way to comport oneself in a formal setting, and how to address lesser nobles without giving offence. As both the vicomtesse of a lesser provincial estate and an adoptive member of House Courcel, my position would be tenuous at court, and I would have to walk a fine line between accepting the courtesies which were due to me, and presuming above my station. 

As a reward for behaving myself during classes, and acquitting myself like a lady, she taught me various tumbling manoeuvres, such as how to throw backflips and walk on my hands. One evening, when I had given her a perfect representation of a child's galliard position, she taught me to climb a rope, how to tangle my body in the coils and use my stomach muscles to strain upward in a surging, serpentine motion, and, once at a secure height, how to swing upside-down safely. 

My mother taught me, too. She sensed my boredom with poetry and music, and turned me instead to history and arithmetic. She despaired of me, betimes, saying that I could not be more different from herself as a child if I had been born to a stranger, but I could tell she was pleased that my talents in such things as held my interest were substantial. The things she could not teach me, she found others to do so, hiring a young engineer from a neighbouring village to come lecture me on the principles of the hypocaust, steam, the uses of gears and pulleys in mechanism, and such things as my Siovalese mind craved. My father often sat in on such lectures, drinking in the principles he had failed to learn while training as a Cassiline. 

That study, too, I refused to neglect, and, as promised, he began to spar with me, betimes requesting Charles Friote or another of the guardsmen to train with me, so that I did not become too accustomed to fighting an opponent trained as a Cassiline. I admit, they were more difficult to predict, betimes, because of their more utilitarian training in classic fencing. Still, I never beat my father, though I bested some of the younger men-at-arms once or twice, to my immense satisfaction. 

Spring came, and we began to correspond with Verreuil. There was a great deal to be done in Montrève during the spring, but Purnell and Richeline could manage well enough without us, and besides, with Ti-Philippe remaining as our steward, their responsibilities would be quartered, as there would be no need to care for us, the lords of the manor. 

We took a company of half a dozen guardsmen and rode to Verreuil. 

It is an expansive old manor, a fortress built originally some four hundred years previously, but several new wings had sprung up since, to house the sons of Verreuil and their growing families. My grandmother, Lady Ges, greeted us upon the hearthstones, embracing us all in turn. My grandfather, Millard, was asleep in his study, but my uncles, Luc and Mahieu, ranged about the antechamber, tall and grinning. My cousin Sanguieur, who was not four months my senior, dragged my away from the greeting party as soon as he could get close. 

'Oi, Ana,' he towed me along the corridor, wheat-blond hair falling into his eyes, blue as mine, 'Marcie just whelped, not four days ago. Come see the pups.' 

I glanced back at my father and received a long-suffering smile. 'Go on,' he murmured, 'before your aunt Jehane comes round and insists that you tell her precisely how you want your fosterage recorded in the Verreuil line.' 

I grinned and clasped Sanguieur's hand. We were nearly of a height at that age, he and I, though he outgrew me by nearly a head by the time we were fully grown, and I am not a small woman. 

The hound-bitch was being kept inside the manor rather than in the kennels; she was scarce more than a year old, and this was her first litter. She was one of the long-legged, shaggy-furred animals bred by my uncles, a Verreuil tradition. We had kept the same breed in Montrève since Imriel was a child, but more care was taken over the breeding in Verreuil, to tell a true tale, and the coats of these hounds were always in a far more uniform colour than ours. Marcie's litter amounted to six pups in all, cream-coloured, most with glossy chestnut points on the ears and tail, with some dappling along the muzzle. Her tail thumped on the floor as we approached; she was nursing her pups. Their eyes were still closed, but they were already taking small, stumbling steps, pausing every moment to sniff the air. 

I knelt by the hound, giving her a scent of my hand and morsel of food that Sanguieur had pressed into my hands. She licked up the food and laid her head in my lap, her enormous eyes gazing adoringly up at me. Sanguieur lifted a pup from the litter, a male whose coat showed no hint of the chestnut brown that marked his littermates. 'Look, Ana. In another generation, we will be producing pups with no markings. This summer, we had an enquiry from the Marquis du Toulard, asking for white pups. He says if we produce them, he will make them popular in the City of Elua.' 

'And you will run their line?' I joked, though I knew he had considerable responsibility with the hounds and their breeding. A pang of regret touched me as I realised that I should have to tell Aedwar that I could no longer influence the hounds of Montrève when I was away. 'Forget the Marquis du Toulard.' I laughed, to cover my sadness, 'I shall cause every peer to crave a white wolfhound of Verreuil. When I am in the City, all the lapdogs shall be thrown out, and hounds shall be the fashion!' I laughed at his shocked expression. 'Imri will help!' 

Sanguieur smirked. 'You are a dreamer, Ana.' He said, and elbowed me in the ribs. My cousins in Verreuil had never had much to do with Imriel, and though they saw my mother and I as family proper, they never imagined their ties to the husband of the dauphine to be so close as a whisper of fosterage.

'Well and so,' I shrugged, imitating Eldora's lofty accents, as when she chided Laurient, 'let my dreams be proved as prophecies.' I caressed Marcie a final time and got to my feet. 'I'm hungry.' I said. 'My mother is like to kill me if I come to supper with dog on my hands.' 

'Come along, then.' Sanguieur shoved his hair back from his face. 'I'll take you to wash.' 

I had more cousins, a great deal of them, most of them older than me, all with the rangy lean height of Verreuil, though Aunt Jehane's youngest daughter, Zolie, had hair a shade darker than the traditional Verreuil cast. Despite my own colouring, my black hair and sooty lashes, I scarcely stood out in the long-limbed, cheerfully loud crush of youth. The only one of my cousins missing was the second eldest son and third child of my uncle Luc, Théophile, who had been sent to the Cassilines some seven years previous. 

I was presented to Lord Millard with little ceremony. When I saw him, he was sitting at the end of the dining board in a large, throne-like chair, gesturing to one of the serving attendants to serve my mother and father first, as guests. I ran to him, and threw my arms round him. His one good arm fastened round my shoulders, and I smelled woodsmoke, Akkadian tobacco, and ink on his clothes, and a little sawdust. It was not unusual for him to build small models such as I myself owned, in his study, using tools fitted to his absent left hand as aids. He was a dab hand at it, too, and gave half the small engines he made to his grandchildren. Many people did not know it, but he was a canny engineer, and had invented many small mechanisms to improve the machinery of Verreuil in a number of scarce noticeable ways. 

He was old, very old, rising eighty, but hale with it, with clean, brisk Siovalese living. His hair was still abundant, held back in a long silver braid, and in the past four or five years, he had affected a heavy beard, which was wiry and thick, of intermingled gold and silver. His bright eyes, my father's eyes, and mine, sparkled beneath heavy brows. 'Anafielle Verreuil, you must not grow another inch,' he growled good naturedly, 'lest you surpass me as age bends my height.' 

'If you do not wish me to, grandpère, I shall not.' I said, accepting his kiss on my forehead. 

'Ah, but you shall grow as tall as a tree, if Blessed Elua wills it.' he smiled. 'Come, to board, my little darling. To board.' 

We set to our meal with a will. I do not recall all the good things we ate, cheeses and ptarmigan, fat and lazy and only just turning out of its white winter plumage, new spring fish, heavy with salty roe, venison and lamb, cooked with early apples, even a haunch of ham, thinly-sliced rich, coated in crushed white peppercorns, up from the curing cellars just for us. There were stews also, and pies filled with hearty vegetables, gravy of goose drippings and white wine, a mound of mashed turnips swimming in butter, fennel, blanched whole and beautiful in its delicate aniseed flavour, crisp to the bite. I ate as much as I could, not more than Sanguieur, but at least I had room for the glorious mint and strawberry tart that followed everything, with rich, sweet plum wine for the adults. 

I was surrounded, afterward, by all my cousins, when we settled in the great hall before the fireplace for conversation and games. It was something like relating to Eldora my experiences of the Shahrizai hunting-lodge, speaking to my Verreuil cousins of the City of Elua. Some of the elder ones had been there, and, owing to my father's fame and influence, had found positions of promise, but they still had not imagined that one of our number might be accepted as a member of the royal family, if only by fosterage. None of them seemed to think that my father had himself raised Prince Imriel de la Courcel as his own since he was my own age. To them, Imriel was as distant a figure as the sky, and for the first time, I feared to lose the hearth and security of my family in rushing so immediately to obey the queen. 

I still could not precisely see the reasons Sidonie wished to foster me, though I had a vague understanding that somewhat had happened between herself and Imriel that compelled the decision. From how the queen had behaved, I doubted she herself had any interest in me beyond that I was my parents' heir. It was not that Ysandre was cold to me, precisely, but she did not take the active interest in me that Sidonie did. I did not fault the queen for this; Terre d'Ange would not run so efficiently if she spent her time catering to every lordling's brat shoved at her, and the fact that she was willing to introduce me to her Alban kin was a sign of the regard with which she held my mother, but I neither expected nor hoped for Ysandre de la Courcel's attention to fall too heavily on my during my fosterage. 

We tarried two weeks in Verreuil, as spring rose up all round us. The trees began to yield their first green leaves and the grass quickened in the cold ground. My father and uncles spoke of foaling and lambing, my aunts and cousins of calves and milk, of cheeses and repair to the manor house, and my mother…my mother thought of covertcy. 

I did not take well to the more subjective points of the discipline. So far as studying the names, lines, and histories of the great houses, it was a simple matter of memorisation, of numbers, of names and faces. But when she asked me to tell her whether a guardsman was worried, whether one of my cousins preferred sheep's milk to cow's, whether my grandmother Ges was planning to order fowl or lamb for supper, I was lost. I could not read the human face as she could, nor could I guess at plans or reactions simply by observation. It did vex her a little, I think, that I did not come to the discipline of covertcy as naturally as Imriel had, but she knew that he, the scion of Kushiel, had an inclination toward such things where I, of Shemahazai's line, had an affinity for precision, for fixed parts moving in harmony, for numbers and inventions, the objective and observable disciplines. 

I wondered, betimes, what her heritage was, my mother's divine line, that instilled her generosity and cleverness, stubbornness, and pride in love. To be sure, it was likely a mix, though they say that in the purest lines of the Night Court Houses, the blood of Naamah runs as thickly as that of Elua runs in House Courcel, and the family of her mother, Liliane de Souveraine is very old in Naamah's Service, and in Jasmine House.

Still, if I would never be a master of spies, like the equally Siovalese Anafiel Delaunay, I benefited from my mother's patient instruction in myriad other things. I became more aware of myself, and I began to wonder about things I had never before considered. I asked more questions, wished to intake more facts, more stories of the certain, tangible quality I was adept at analysing. 

I asked my father about the Cassilines. 

It was not gently done, I admit it, even for a child, but I was not in the habit of dissembling with my father, and I think he was grateful for the simple question I made of it. We were sitting, of an evening, upon our return to Montrève, in my mother's study, reading. She had retired already, but my father had found a treatise on road-building in the Tiberian Empire, and I had found a history of the campaigns of Iskandr the Macedon, and we were alike devouring the study of our respective interests. I looked at the candles, burning low in their holders, and I thought that I had yet a little time before bed, in order that I should awake early enough to practice with my father, and the question came, unbidden. 

'Papa,' I said, not pausing to frame my words with any diplomacy, 'what was it like, becoming a Cassiline?' 

He was very still a moment, his eyes fixed upon his book, though he had stopped reading. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened momentarily before he smiled, and looked up at me with a very strange expression. 'You know, Ana,' he said quietly, 'no one has ever asked me that. Not your mother, not Imriel, not even the Queen of Terre d'Ange.' 

'Well,' I put aside my history, 'I have asked.' 

'Do you really wish to know?' I nodded, and he sighed. 'In truth, I do not think it is all so grim as many believe. The Cassiline Brotherhood keeps its secrets close, but we are still d'Angeline, and if we do not respect the theology of other Companions, we do not violate the precept of Blessed Elua. I was only a little older than you are now, when I was given to the Brotherhood. Verreuil is an old name, and we are devout. 

'It is said that Shemhazai, during the age of Elua's vigil, did twice lay with the heir of Verreuil, who was herself, or so it is written in our genealogy, the daughter of Eisheth, and that three sons were produced from their union, first a pair of twins, and second, a singleborn son. It is written that Cassiel, seeing the bounty of angelic ichor, petitioned Shemhazai for one of his sons, to follow him and Elua, and to protect their blessed master from aught that meant him harm. Shemhazai in turn entreated his mortal lover, and she gave the second of the twins up to Cassiel's untender training when he attained ten years of age. 

'Twenty years later, or so the story goes, after Elua and Cassiel had passed into Terre d'Ange Beyond, the middle son of Verreuil returned, an apogee from the Cassiline Brotherhood, and entreated his brother to give him his own middle son, to rear him in the following of Cassiel, and the eldest brother acceded. So has it been, through time, throughout generations. The second son of House Verreuil has ever been a Cassiline, every generation. Even Luc's son, Théophile.' He paused then, a little sadly. 'I was the first generation ever to be declared anathema, or to renege on my oaths.' 

'You followed Blessed Elua's teaching.' 

'I made love my duty, rather than loving the duty that was set to me. Yes, Ana, I followed the Precept of Elua,' he laid his own book aside, smiling less now. 'But you asked me what it was like to become a Cassiline.' He sighed. 'Sometimes, I cannot believe it was only ten years of my life. I have spent thrice that with your mother, thrice that being the anathemised oath-breaker. I have spent as long being your father, and who is to say which decade was the more trying?' he teased, and upon seeing my expression, he held out his arms. I climbed into them, nestling in his side, my face against the steady beat of his heart. 

'It was hard, to leave my family, though I knew my fate as soon as I could comprehend things, knew that I was destined for Cassiel's service. It was hard to leave Verreuil, but not so hard as it might have been. My uncle came for me, brought me to the Prefect. I was examined for health, and my name put down in the records. 

'There were chores, of course; the life of a Cassiline is hard. We woke before dawn to pray, to tell the hours, to run. We ran a great deal. Miles, whatever the weather. We cleaned our quarters, drew our own water, washed our own dishes. Once we were old enough, we cooked our own food and built our own cells. We were re-taught the Eluine Cycle, taught that what we had already learnt was heresy in the eyes of Cassiel and in the eyes of the One God. 

'We were taught that the Companions, the seven beside Cassiel: Eisheth, Naamah, Anael, Azza, Shemhazai, Kushiel, and Camael, were all disobedient to the One God, and damned, that Cassiel alone truly obeyed. He had compassion when the One God forgot, grieving for his son Yeshua ben Yosef, and went alone, thinking to bring them back to heaven and the One God. We are not taught as I now believe, that Cassiel followed Elua for love, and no other reason. 

'It was hard, Ana, but no harder than the life of a peasant, who works the earth, betimes for naught. We were privileged, in a way, the final legacy of Cassiel's disciplines. It was Cassiel himself who taught us to fight, to protect the scions of Elua. I will not lie, and say I hated it; if I had not endured it, you would not be here. Terre d'Ange might not be here. But it was hard, most of the time.' He chuckled. 'Why, would you have me setting you to hauling water and washing dishes, that you may say you are a Cassiline trained proper?' 

I shook my head. 'No, I simply…I just…' I realised he had divined the true nature of my question, and blushed. Joscelin Verreuil had not lived thirty years with Phèdre nó Delaunay to no effect. 'Papa,' I said, slowly, 'how good am I? Really?' 

'Why do you ask, love?' 

'Because it is what I am best at.' I said, a little more crossly than I meant to. 'Because I am not pretty, or clever, like maman, or beautiful and right like Imriel, or good, like you. I am learning new things, but what I am best at is the Cassiline forms, fighting, duelling. If I am really no good at that, if I have no real promise, then I am awfully wretched at everything else.' 

He did laugh, then, my father, a proper laugh, full-throated and cheerful. 'You are clever Anafielle Verreuil de Montrève,' he sighed. 'And you are good at the forms. You're quick, and you learn well. Perhaps a mite too well. I don't fancy you getting into duels in the City once you're grown simply because everyone knows you're Cassiline trained and wishes to try the skill of a woman duellist.' 

'Oh, papa!' I cried despairingly, and hugged him. I am not sure why it was so important to me to know that I was good at something, but it comforted me greatly to know that my father thought I was too good at them, and that I might come to be known as a duellist who was Cassiline trained. 

'Come along, love,' he said, blowing out most of the candles, and taking one up. 'The hour grows late. If we're to make a proper Cassiline out of you, we must be up early on the morrow.' 

He lit my way up the stairs, and to my room, which was only across the hall from that which he shared with my mother, and kissed me good night. 

I lay awake for a long time that night, trying to think of what it would be like to be taken away from home to a destiny you knew was inescapable, to become the heir and avatar of a fruitless god, to unlearn all that you knew of your heredity, to see those you revered denounced as nothing more than debauched traitors. The image of Sanguieur formed in my head, and when I finally slept, all I saw was the stern visage of Cassiel, the angel of compassion and moderation, of self-control and chastity, his daggers crossed, and his head bowed.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Characters you recognise are not mine. Characters you do are. I make no profit, this is only for funs.

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the lack of uploads. I have been deeply prodigal, but now I am returning to the posting fold, though to be frank, there are better things you lovely people have to do than slay the fatted calf, but I'm once again here with another slightly draggy-outy chapter. Please find it in your hearts to enjoy.

TWELVE

Spring advanced triumphantly upon Montrève, leaving, like Blessed Elua, flowers blossoming in its wake. Across the valleys appeared lush carpets of vivid grass and multicoloured flowers, and our sheep dropped lambs in great abundance. Bees sang in the lavender, and I found myself yearning to stay, and fearing to. The City of Elua, though foreign, had woken an impulse within me for new faces and new company, of hearing loud carriages clattering in the streets and vendors crying their wares. And I missed the friends I had made. True, I received letters, no fewer than half a dozen every month, but it was not the same. I wanted to see Imriel, and Sidonie, Taurus and Laurient, and Yseulte, who had been very sweet to me. I even missed Eldora, for all her haughty ways, and little Maphiste, who held onto my shirt-tails and caused me to be reprimanded for going about with my points untucked and untidy.

Still, I enjoyed the spring of Siovale as well as I ever had, mayhap more, for the knowledge that it would be the last I would spend there for perhaps as long as two years, should my fosterage with the Alban Courcels come to fruition. I did not, for all that, mislike the idea of travelling across the Straits to live among the comparatively barbaric Picti.

Word came, in one of the final weeks of spring, that the Cruarch would set sail within the week, and if aught else could rouse our household half so well, I do not know what it might be. We packed off for the City of Elua in due course, this time far more hampered than last time by the load of chests and the wardrobe my mother had commissioned from Favrielle over the winter, and nothing would do but that it was brought with us.

It was a merry enough journey, even if my mother was a little more solemn than she was wont. I knew she feared nothing for my safety in the palace, but I was her only child, the heir of her flesh, as Imriel had been the heir of her heart, and she would miss me. Come to it, I would miss her, and I suffered to ride with her in the carriage in order to spend more time with her. To pass the time, we played memory games, the sort she made up herself, and one which her own foster-brother, Alcuin nó Delaunay, had invented. Rather than a game of withholding truths, its object was to reveal them, attempting to convey in limited words that which was upturned on a set of word-cards. We were not permitted to use proper names or colours, and various other oddments, and the other players would seek to guess what the object was. Once, papa came into the carriage, and he was very good at it, only maman said he cheated because he talks so little already.

My natality came early in the spring, the month before my mother, and Imriel's. Father said that was what made us all too strongheaded, and when I protested, he said that only proved it. My birthday was spent on the road, and the even in an inn. It was not the worst of natalities, for, though it slowed us, Hugues took me aside from the path and helped me shoot a cord of fowl and hares. That even, we delivered them to our host at the inn. I ate near a whole fowl with mushrooms and a vibrant green sauce of basil and garlic. There was an Eisandine mendacant lodging at our inn, by some stroke of luck, and my mother charmed him into plying his trade before us. I dare say she sweetened her smile with a fair deal of coin, but he very likely would have played for naught, for Phèdre nó Delaunay. He told dramatic tales of old heroes and new, and, of course, chanted a portion of the Ysandrine Cycle in praise of my mother.

'And someday, mayhap, there shall be poems writ of you, my little lady.' the mendacant grinned, chucking me under the chin. I blushed and demurred, but I wanted to tell him that I shouldn't at all hope for such things. It was true enough, then, and if I have since had my share of both praise and censure, it is still true now.

Our journey, for all that, was all too swiftly over, and we found ourselves finally at the end of Eisheth's Way, in sight of the great white walls of the City of Elua. Unexpectedly, my heart gave a great leap, and I realised that I had missed the City greatly, the beautiful conflagration of people, of friends.

Our arrival in the City was heralded by a fanfare of cheering guards and young Tsingani and _didikani_ throwing handfuls of wildflower nosegays. My mother gave me a handful of pennies to scatter amongst the beggars, and to her horror, I clambered up on the roof of the carriage to toss them to the hooting boys and girls. When I heard them calling my name, I was surprised that they knew it, but then I realised that news of my fosterage had been circulating for a full season, and it would be been stranger yet if they had not known.

We stopped very briefly at the town house, long enough to change and refresh ourselves, and then we went directly to the palace. We were expected. Imriel met us in the courtyard, beaming fit to split his face. He caught me up in his strong arms, and kissed me soundly. 'So little sister, will you now consent to being my foster-daughter?' I grinned and nodded, and when I saw Sidonie in the hall, I ran to her and embraced her. She laughed and cupped my face in her hands.

'They must have watered you well in Montrève, my little weed. You have grown inches since winter, Ana!' she kissed me, and pressed my hands. Of a surety, I still only came to her chest, but the Courcel women are tall. 'So! You have finally come back. We are preparing to receive my father the Cruarch, you know? Will you ride in the parade to welcome him at my side, love?'

'It would be an honour.' I replied, just as my hackles rose, and I turned to see Barquiel L'Envers leading Yseulte out from a corridor. 'Seulte!' I cried.

'Ana!' she was in my arms and laughing before I could blink, chattering away in Akkadian. 'Oh, they've just put out some very fine things for supper. And I've been learning flower arrangement and painting, and how to mix pigments, and Master Lamiz says I may be better than he is someday at composing verses. Do you think I could be the Royal Poet?'

'You already are a royal poet, Seulte.' I laughed. 'You write verse, and you are a princess.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh, tisn't clever to tease.' I raised my eyes to the Duc L'Envers, and gave the curtsey protocol dictated.

'My lord duc,' I said, meeting his hard-eyed stare.

'Vicomtesse de Montrève. Why, I had not the faintest knowledge that you were so fluent in Akkadian. I should have guessed, of course, with your mother being who she is.' he gave an insouciant bow, and Yseulte looked adoringly at him.

'Oh, grandpère, Ana is just the cleverist of linguists. And accents! Oh, at the Midwinter Masque she pretended to be Kusheline, and Taurus Shahrizai nearly laughed his brain out his nose.'

'More's the pity he did not succeed.' L'Envers murmured, and I would have snickered at the dry irony if I hadn't wanted so much to stick my tongue out at his ridiculous manners. It struck me that for a noble to be so petty as to insult a child was an ungallantry that needed no reply to make it ugly. I had half expected Sidonie to reprimand him for it, but she only lifted a brow, and shook her head.

'Your japes grow tasteless with your increasing hunger, uncle. Mayhap you should visit the kitchens for a sampling to sweeten your mood?'

'Supper will keep, your highness,' he said, and took Yseulte's shoulder. 'Come, dear. You've letters to write to your mother and brothers.' she kissed me once, and went, looking for all the world as though he were not an evil old bastard, but rather somewhat beautiful, like a hero out of a tale or a song.

'Do not mind him, Anafielle,' Sidonie touched my hair. 'He growls and blusters, but he is loyal.'

_'Loyal,' _I thought,_ 'She would not say he is good.' _But I smiled and nodded as my parents came abreast of us with Imriel.

'Would you like to see your new quarters, Ana?' Imriel asked.

'I would. I confess myself tired from my journey.' I looked to mother, and she nodded.

'Go, then. Take my daughter, Imriel.' she joked, shaking her head.

'I shall care well for her, Phèdre.' he replied, and a moment of solemnity passed between them. 'Come along Ana. I've ordered your things brought up, but it may take some little time.' he held out a hand to me, and I took it. As we walked, he told me of the things we should do once I was well setted. There would be plays, during the summer, and the great fête for the Cruarch's arrival, and there was an Eisandine harpist of some renown in the City, who was invited to play tonight at our supper. 'And there is a great surprise, too, love, which I shall have to wait for Sidonie to tell you.' he pushed a door open, and led me inside. 'Welcome home, Anafielle.' I looked inside, and wanted to laugh. It was his little joke, I think, and he must have conspired for some time to create such a place.

It was the very image of my room in Montrève, down to the hunting horn pegged upon my wall. He had a wondrous fine memory, did Imriel, fr it must have been over two years since he had last seen my rooms in Siovale. They had not changed overmuch, I fear, and he had somehow found, or ordered, a coverlet embroidered in the colours of Montrève, but the hangings were in Courcel blue, deep and starry, and bearing the golden lily and stars of Terre d'Ange. There was rack on the wall for my daggers, and a desk bearing pen and ink, and parchment aplenty. I thought suddenly of the letters I would have to write to my mother and father, and my heart gave an unexpected pang. I shook it off. There would be time later, to miss them, but now I was happy.

'Lord Hyacinthe will make the journey across the Straits this year, did you know?' Imriel said, making idle conversation as I examined my room, at once new and familiar. 'He wishes to see his goddaughter fostered.'

'He wrote to maman. She was very happy. And papa cursed, but I don't think he really meant it. He was happy too, I think. Anyhow, I don't so much remember him.' I bounced on the bed.

'You'll like him. And Alais, too.' a sweet smile came to his face. 'She's bringing her son to meet his grandmother the queen.'

'Oh?'

'Aye. He's some few years younger than you, eight or so. I could be mistaken. I'm eager to meet him myself.'

'What's his name?' I asked.

'Ciárhan de la Courcel. Or that is how he will be called here. In Alba, he is Ciárhan mab Alais. A neat harper, or so I've been told. Takes after his father.'

'Oh, aye?' I found myself interested. I myself was a dreadful musician, though my mother had often attempted to make me apply myself to the lute. Still, I delighted to hear music, and when Hugues sang, I could have listened for hours. Imriel sat down beside me on the bed.

'Ana, I want you to be happy here.' he faced me, eyes open and studying me, so that I knew he was looking, really looking, and seeing me in his right as Kushiel's scion.

'I think I shall be.' I replied. 'Already, I love the City, and I am anxious to learn what I can, and become a lady that maman can be right proud of.'

'She is proud already.' he said. 'But we shall together make her heart fit to burst with happiness. What say you?'

'Well, I do not mean her any injury.' I joked, and he returned my smile. 'I do not think I shall be capable of dolefulness. Not here, not with you.'

'I'm pleased.' he nodded toward the wardrobe. 'There is a new gown in there, for you to wear to supper. There will be a few peers in attendance, and the queen will be there, or I would abide you to wear your travelling clothes. I shall send an attendant to dress you, and see to your hair.' he kissed me again, and left, humming to himself.

I recalling hearing that in his youth, Imriel had been a brooding boy, with dark moods and foul tempers betimes. It is not that he had little reason. Indeed, having been sold into slavery and cruel usage at the age of ten would turn anyone bitter, and by all accounts his moods had been few, but I could never reconcile that with the man I now called brother. The husband of the dauphine was as happy a man as I have ever met, always with a smile and excess of Elua's own love. There are those say that he is the mirror image of his mother, and indeed, the resemblance is unmistakeable, but I have looked at the paintings ranged in the Hall of Portraits, and there is an expression about him, somewhat in the brow and jaw, and certainly the smile, that puts me in mind of young Prince Rolande, who was by rights his cousin, Ysandre's father, who died in the Battle of the Three Princes, and for whose love my own namesake devoted his life to serving the crown. I wondered if anyone else saw the resemblance, or if it was only the fancy of a child.

By and by, supper came, and I was dressed and coiffed, and delivered to the charge of my mother.

The few peers of whom Imriel had spoken turned out to be a score of nobles, including the Duc de Trevalion, with his wife Agathe, a long-faced woman with dark hair and bronze eyes, and Laurient, whom my heart leapt to see, Estienne and Gaël de Morbhan with their mother, Raul L'Envers and his wife, Colette, but not Eldora, and, wonderfully, Lord Mavros Shahrizai, with Taurus at his elbow, twin cat's paw smiles glittering in the torchlight.

At the end of the board, Queen Ysandre rose to greet us, beckoning my mother to her side. 'Near cousin,' she gave my mother the kiss of greeting, and pressed her lips to my cheeks, first one, then the other, in turn. 'Where is your Cassiline? Will the Queen's Champion not grace us with his presence?'

'Joscelin is running somewhat late, your majesty. He will join us shortly.'

The queen gave my mother a strange look, as though to enquire what her purposes were, but she seated us on her left side, where I found myself shoulder-to-shoulder with disagreeable old Barquiel L'Envers. He glanced sidelong at me, but said nothing. I could see Yseulte on his other side and longed to sit with her, but the dreadful old bear did not offer to change seats with me.

Fortunately, my father arrived some minutes later and divided us, though I should very much have liked to sit with a friend. It did not help that Taurus did not appear to have noticed me, and was flirting outrageously with a girl who must have been sixteen years old. Laurient was too far down the board for me to catch his eye, and I was reduced to assiduously minding my table manners. Fortunately, the fare was magnificent―hares and sorrel, tender veal, sweet and white and wrapped round morsels of cheese, a terrine of salty minnows, and a soup of lavender and cream, so delicate that I nearly wept. There were all manner of pastries, sweet and savoury, tarts and pies and creams to follow, new spring pears and carrots shredded with sharp, biting horseradish and soaked in sherry vinegar, and so many good things I nearly lost memory of where I was.

I was jolted rudely back to reality when Lord Barquiel turned to my father and said, 'Where's that Eglantine adept of yours?' I saw a muscle in papa's jaw twitch, and wondered whether Barquiel L'Envers could dodge if he brought his dining knife up suddenly.

'She has returned to her _Sâlon du Danse_, I believe. Her students have missed her greatly.'

'And now she can boast to them that she served a Cassiline, eh? Not a thing many out of the Night Court can say, eh?' I knew he was being crude a-purpose. My father was raised a Cassiline, and even if he had lived three decades with the most famous Servant of Naamah in living memory, he still did not speak so, or like it when others did.

'Indeed.' I could tell, from the way his tones clipped, the way he bit off his words, that he was of a mind to do somewhat, and I did not care to see what, particularly in this company. If I am not terribly good at reading most people, I still know my own father.

'My lord duc,' I said, turning my most ingenuous expression upon him, 'is it true that you were Royal Commander?' I knew very well that he had been, and that his enforced retirement had been long a point of contention between himself and the queen, though it had been through his own folly and plotting that he had been cost the position.

'And what would you know of the army, girl?' his expression was not, as I had expected, one of annoyance and scorn, but rather, his eyes had begun to glitter, and he smiled with feline pleasure at the opportunity to make my father, through my enquiry, appear a fool.

'I admit that I know very little, but I have been at my history all winter, my lord duc, so that I could not fail to notice your position. Is it true that all throughout your command of the army we never once came against an enemy in battle?'

'It is true,' he said, his face changing to something less like condescension and more like that of a lecturing master, 'we were blessed during the years of my service with peace in Terre d'Ange, though doubtless had we been beset, the army would have been sufficient to the task.'

'And did you not hold the Caste Bretel against the evil spell of Bodeshmun when the City of Elua was ensorcelled?' I had read a treatise on the siege in the secret study which I had discovered during the winter, apparently written by one who had been within. It was a fascinating history, as well as enlightening to many tactics that might be utilised by a besieged fortress in time of peril. These latter I did not so well understand, but I thought that I might easily come to do so, for I had both interest and energy to study. The Duc L'Envers eyes had ceased now to glitter with the hard, defensive light I had many times been witness to, and had become canny and attentive.

'This is true. How come you to find interest in such things, when you should be learning music and thinking about building your dowry of graces?'

I did not wish to reveal my place of refuge, lest I be reprimanded for visiting what might be a private study, and I began to demur, but my father rescued me from embarrassment. 'My daughter has singular interests, L'Envers. Phèdre had to engage an engineer out of the Bordeaux to teach her the new steam systems and concerning pulleys.'

'Engineering?' L'Envers laughed anew, and it seemed to me that for a moment he exchanged a look with Imriel. I did not know whether I liked this, and turned back to my food. At least he had forgotten his dissolution so much that he had ceased to make light of my father's chastity. It was not unheard of that a wedded pair in Terre d'Ange would forswear all other lovers, but it was not, for that, terribly common. Many marriages were conducted in open strings of intrigue, betimes with deception, and betimes lacking any pretence that they were faithful to one another. I would come to learn, as I grew older, that many husbands and wives were the more faithful to their lovers than to their spouses. Even amongst the most faithful of marriages, allowance was usually made for visits to the Night Court.

That evening, my family retired into quarters that had been made ready for them in the palace. It appeared as though I should be immediately inducted into the palace, and Imriel had provided that I should not be uneasy regarding the move from my mother's household. I spent the evening with Imri and my mother, they making conversation and confounding one another at a game of borders and banquets, at which they were both far better than any of the Shahrizai children I had set myself against that evening in the hunting lodge, and I basked in their simple presence, feeling satisfied and in the company of those I loved the most in all the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Characters you recognise are not mine. Characters you do are. I make no profit, this is only for funs.

THIRTEEN

I do not recall being very excited concerning the return of the Cruarch to Terre d'Ange, but I felt all round me a frisson of joy from the inhabitants of the palace; my mother and father, Imriel and Sidonie, and certainly most of all, from Queen Ysandre. Though I was permitted, in the main, to keep to myself, running in company with Yseulte and Laurient, and the son and daughter of Lord Thierry Roualt, who inhabited the palace, I could not help coming into contact with the queen several times in a day, and she seemed to me to be somehow younger and lighter, more carefree and wont to smile.

I found myself, for the present, free of tutors, for which I was not very sorry, but I knew that Sidonie and my mother would not allow my mind to lie fallow for long. My father had some little acquaintance with the Marquis du Toulard, who was an assiduous engineer and thinker in his own right, and often my father took me to see new designs for water-mills, or the newest way to germinate seeds early in the year, or the most effective pulley system, or the launching of a new trebuchet.

The secret military study drew me, too, and there I often lost myself, for though I dearly loved my new friends already, I felt that I should enjoy the quietude rather less if it were imposed upon. Also, I was a little afraid to be ridiculed, for Yseulte and Béringuieur both were rather more interested in the aesthetics, and Pléiades, singularly enough, was interested only in animals, often horrifying her lady mother by presenting her with a box filled with carefully sorted beetles and snails. Laurient, I knew, was interested in soldiering, but from the way he spoke, I rather thought he believed it was all sword waving and shining breastplates, and I knew instinctively that he would soon become bored with histories and dry strategic treatises.

For my part, I valued my solicitude as much as I loved my friends and their company, each in equal measure. It is peculiar, but there was one among my new set who always seemed the brightest and wittiest in company, and whom I felt could never encroach upon my privacy, so that he was immensely satisfying as a companion, whatever my moods. Possibly, it is because he was a little older than most of us, but I believe that Taurus Shahrizai only knew how best to accommodate himself to my moods and the requirements thereof. When we grew older, and others grew jealous of the hours I spent with him, he was accused of playing false, and only adapting himself so as to seek out my favour, but I cannot believe such calumny. I think I suited him in the same inexplicable manner, and continued to do so as our lives progressed.

Taurus and his father had entered from Kusheth with Lord Mavros' father, Lord Sacriphant, though most of the Shahrizai had elected to remain in Kusheth through that summer, despite the Cruarch's arrival. It appeared as though Duc Faragon, the ancient patriarch of House Shahrizai, was in failing health. There was some little question as to the succession of House Shahrizai, and the duchy was an envied position of power for the mysterious family.

Whatever reason Lord Sacriphant and his heirs had for leaving Kusheth during so critical a time, they did not appear in the least concerned for their station, and though Imriel offered them the use of the quarters he had kept open for Mavros' use, they remained in the large town house which Lord Sacriphant maintained not four steps from the palace.

I recall that I was rather playing truant one day. Our falconer in Montrève, Aedwar, was a Cruithne who had taken service with my mother the year I was born, and had not since returned to Alba. This year, for reasons of his own, he had begged leave to accompany us to the City of Elua to observe the triumphal entry of the Cruarch, and my mother, soft-hearted as she was, particularly for those members of our household who particularly doted on me, acceded graciously. Therefore, I was that afternoon in the mews of the palace with him, and we were discussing quietly the merits of various training methods, upon which depended whether the hawk in question would remain reserved to only one or two handlers, or would be likely to be handled by several sportsmen in the course of its life. In Montrève, the former was more likely, but in the palace, where half a hundred inhabitants would make the walls seem empty, a hawk would be trained for many handlers, and would by necessity have an easier temperament.

It was upon this serene tableau that another person quietly interposed himself, with an arm slipped through mine.

'Taurus!' I turned to embrace him, and he placed the kiss of greeting with a smiling mouth upon my forehead.

'Montrève,' he replied, and bowed to Aedwar. 'I heard I might find you here.' and then, in Cruithne, as politely as you please, 'Sir Falconer, I fear I must steal your student away under Prince Imriel's orders.'

Aedwar bowed, and Taurus, marginally tightening his grip on my arm, steered me away into the palace halls. 'Did Imriel really ask for me?' I inquired. I had not seen him since the fête the evening of my return to the City, and I had not, that night, spoken to him.

'He said I should see where you'd gone off to. I'm afraid that I stole you away from your friend for purely selfish reasons.' he paused in the hall, and held me at arm's length, studying me coolly with his solemn eyes and mad-cap smile. At my enquiring gaze, he shook his head, myriad braids swaying. 'Nothing, Montrève, nothing. I've missed the sight of you, that's all. You're a devilish poor correspondent; not nearly as interesting as when you're really here.'

I shrugged. I knew my letters had been erratic at best, but to my credit, I had written only when I was certain my letters would not be delayed by weather. 'You will stay in the palace?' I asked.

'Not certain yet. Betimes, I shall at least be nearer to you than I would have been in Kusheth. Father wants to have privacy, and there are all sorts of spies in the palace. Nothing serious!' he laughed, noting my expression. 'But peers all pry into one another's affairs, and servants are not above observing more than they ought for a noble's favour and a judicious piece of gold.'

'And are you plotting? You and your father?' I teased, half-terrified to receive some arcane confidence.

'What do we want with plotting?' he laughed. 'If we wanted aught, we should have remained in Kusheth, where our house weaves its insular nets and strangles the unwitting. No, compared with Kusheth, Montrève, the City of Elua is a child's puzzle-box.' he grinned, and took my hand. 'So, are you pleased to see me?'

I laughed. 'I don't wish to inflate your head.'

'Why not? If it is true, say so. I'm insufferably curious. I couldn't bear it if I longed to see you all spring and you didn't care a tupenny piece for my skin.' I saw very well that the comment was designed to cater to my own ego, and I laughed at it. He shook his head again. 'Ah, me. Truth rings prettily, sometimes, or so said some poet.'

'And sometimes it rings like a Shahrizai fishing for compliments.' I returned. He had the grace to blush a little, and I stopped him, taking his hands in mine. 'But no. I did miss you. I'm pleased you're here.' then I paused, troubled. 'Why do you say there is plotting in Kusheth?'

He did turn really solemn then, looking about us, though the hall was deserted, and pulling me into an abandoned study. He closed the door and stood, still as a statue, listening hard. Then he turned me toward a settee and set beside me, both my hands in his, his beautiful young features composed with such fearful maturity that I suddenly felt very young, and thought he might be about to reprimand me for enquiring too deeply into his affairs. But instead, he leaned forward and spoke in a low, confidential voice.

'I should not tell anyone this, and indeed, even in my family we do not speak of it, though we all know it, and act accordingly. As it does not for a moment affect you, I shall relate it to you in confidence. I wish to have the most perfect honesty between us, Montrève, and a wholly sincere friendship, without artifice and without fear. You must understand me in order to trust what I do, and you see that I do not ask you to make overtures. I shall confide everything to you, unless it is not my own secret, and the power of revelation lies with another. If you will honour me with a similar confidence, I will be very pleased, and you will have no reason to regret it. But you must promise that what I tell you now will never pass your lips unless it be to me, or if the withholding of the secret endangers your life.'

If he were anyone else, I might have hesitated before giving any sort of promise, under oath of honour or no, but I had come to have a confidence in Taurus Shahrizai which transcended the rationality of fear. I put my trust in him because I knew I could, and that is all, and knew that only time would tell if my trust was well or ill-founded. 'I promise.' I said. 'But are you certain that you wish to make me party to this knowledge?'

He nodded. 'Oh, yes. I may not tell you everything, for some of it is unknown, or not my secret to tell, and some I do not myself yet understand. But my father and grandfather have taken me out of Kusheth for a purpose. The head of House Shahrizai, Duc Faragon, is an ancient man, rising a full century of living, and he is growing frail. Some believe he will outlive my generation, while others say he is every moment at the gate of Terre d'Ange beyond. Whenever the occasion of his mortality is due, it is still a fact that the succession of House Shahrizai has never been assured.'

'Do you mean that he has no heirs?'

'I mean, rather, that he has several.' Taurus chuckled, and suddenly, it all seemed like a very good joke.

'What has that to do with you?' I asked.

'Oh, the House is squabbling, playing games of dominance, and while we are all quite peaceful, insofar, grandpère fears things may grow unsettled. Therefore, my father brought me here, while he consolidates his favour with House Courcel, and the squabbling within Kusheth may turn either dangerous or childish.'

'Why has not Duc Faragon himself named a successor?' I enquired. 'Would that not settle everything?'

He shrugged. 'Well yes, but where would be the fun in that?' again, the mad-cap grin, and he threw his books up on an antimacassar. 'At least here I am safe. Do you know that Uncle Baptiste is attempting to ally with the Duc de Morbhan? Narcisse is all in fits because she's afraid he'll be married off to Estienne before she has a chance to début in the game of courtship.' he seemed very pleased at the vexation of his cousin, and a thought struck me.

'Taurus, who are the strongest contenders for the duchy?' I tried to make the question sound casual, but I was no fledgeling spy, and he is Kushiel's child.

'Ah, ah! If you are wondering whether I am in the running, you are very much mistaken. You forget that my line is uninsured, only my paternity is known. A mother's name is in every way as important as a father's, particularly in a house as insular as ours.'

'Then you do not know your mother?' I asked, astonished. He shook his head.

'Oh, do not be deceived. I know her very well, but for her to state her maternity of my person would be, you understand, very dangerous to her.'

'Then it will be one of the secrets between us,' I said. He nodded, becoming grave again. But this was not the seriousness of any real import, but rather the natural tender silence which was so usually a part of his nature.

'Does it matter to you?' he asked suddenly, balancing the heel of one boot upon the toe of the other. 'That I haven't a mother?'

'No. Should it?'

'Well,' he reflected, 'she could be anyone. She could be low born, or high, so high that it would frighten everyone.' his smile became again mischievous. 'She might be the dauphine.'

'Is it?'

He shook his head. 'No. Lady Sidonie has always been kind to me, but I am glad she is not my mother.' he gave a little shudder. 'So. Have you managed not to strangle any lovely peers so far? I hear you keep company betimes with that pedantic trifler, Trevalion.'

I coloured, and became very uncomfortable. 'You don't like Laurient?'

'Oh, it's Laurient, is it?' he teased, nudging my shoulder. 'I don't dislike him. As I say, he is a trifler, and of no import. But if you like him, I shall try to like him too, for your sake. Is it enough?'

'I suppose.' And it would have to be. Who could ask more?

I thought that I should needs be brought before Favrielle before the arrival of the Cruarch, but I endured no such dreadful ordeal. Truth be told, I did not dread the process so much as my father did. In all the years I remember, he has ever been impatient with such things, despite that my mother made many of the decisions concerning cut and style. He cared very little for fashion, as might be expected, and I think that was not of a piece with his ascetic Cassiline training. I think if he had come to manhood in Verreuil, he would have preferred the same utilitarian clothing, the same dove-greys and earth colours that, in truth, made his beauty the more resplendent for their subtlety.

This is not to say that I was not measured for a new suit of clothes, but I did not leave the palace for it. Favrielle came to us, and took my new measurements herself, which made everyone at court gasp at the favour she showed me.

'Blessed Naamah, girl,' she said, when she had done with her line, and I was pulling my clothes back on, 'you have sprouted like a weed. I thought you could not get any skinnier. Can your mother not afford to feed you?'

'She doesn't take meat,' my mother sighed. It was, of late, a piece of contention between us, one of the myriad petty things that make up the relationship between a parent and their child. I had not been, of late, hungered for meat, and ate voraciously of fruits and vegetables, uncooked, for preference, and an abundance of fish and fowl. My mother had worried enough to enquire after such behaviour with a physician, though, it is true, she did not force me to submit to an examination, and I think she must have been given such answer as satisfied her, for she ceased to ply me with game and beef, and only chided me occasionally.

'She has very good skin, for all that,' Favrielle took my chin and lifted it. 'You eat nuts, do you? And a good deal of berries, I expect.' I nodded. 'Has she lately eaten much fish?'

'Salmon,' my mother sighed. 'A great deal.'

'It is good for the skin. The girl is fair glowing, Phèdre.'

My mother smiled gently. She had a love for hearing praise of me, though I admit, I was not a particularly pretty child. 'And when did you become so miraculous at knowing which foods support a healthy skin, Favrielle?'

'Oh, as to that,' Favrielle tossed her fiery curls, which strands of silver rendered only the more striking, 'there come, sometimes, noblewomen who wish to wear such a colour as does not suit them, and I must recommend to them such things to eat as will render their skin ruddier or paler. And in the Night Court we are taught such things as will keep us as beautiful as we may be.'

'I was never taught such things,' my mother reflected.

'Ah, yes, but you left the Night Court when you were fostered at ten. You had cooks and a grand lord as a patron to determine such things for you.' Favrielle's smirk was ungracious, but I think my mother took it as a mark of familiar affection.

'So, what will you do for her?' enquired my mother, petting my hair.

'Will she be riding to meet the Cruarch in the queen's party?'

'That she will.'

Favrielle was silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to her measuring line as she wound it carefully, lending far more attention than she was wont to the task. 'Some two years ago,' she began, in a tone I had never heard before, but which recalled to my mind something of the rhythm of Master Giles Lamiz, 'a man came to my atelier.' I would later come to recognise the pattern of her speech as one which is taught to players and poets, a beautiful cadence which drew the listener, a trick of lowering to voice so that the urgency and tension of the words was highlighted masterfully. 'He is Alban, tall and fair, good-looking in the way of their northern tribes. He called himself Caradhoc of the Fhalair Bàn, and he brought me a robe from a Priestess of Elua. He said he had made it, and that he had been sent to me by his―' her eyes narrowed in thought, as though she were trying to see something very far away, '―his _diadh anam_.' she blushed a little, and cast down her eyes.

'And this young Alban,' my mother said, 'you would recommend him to design a piece for Anafiel?'

'He is very young, Phèdre, not sixteen years of age. But he is as good as I was at his age. And he has a grasp of their patterns of knot design that I despair of mastering myself. It would do honour to the Cruarch, I think, and it would be a great favour to him. The realm of Terre d'Ange, and that, also, of Alba, will see his work, and I am not so unknown there that his reputation will not be greatly enhanced in both countries.'

'Have you taken him on as an apprentice?' my mother asked.

'Yes. Without the apprentice-fee, I add. Well,' she shook her head a little, 'not entirely. I will secure a percentage of the proceeds from his work until the apprentice-fee has been paid. And it is far less an amount than a marque ever was.'

'That is only canny business.' my mother acceded. 'You will bring me the sketches first, and I will give him a patron-fee sufficient to the workmanship.'

Favrielle nodded. It was a fair offer―more than fair, for an unknown and foreign couturier, and his work would be seen by the City of Elua and its peers, the Cruarch and his honour guard. 'Thank you, Phèdre.' there was a brief moment between them, somewhat that harked back to their youth, I think, and then it was gone. Favrielle touched my forehead with her thumb, a brush between my brows, and, with a curtsey, was gone.


End file.
